
























































































































































































A 

SERIOUS CALL 

TO A 

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE 

adapted to 

the state AjYD COjYDITTO.Y of all 
ORDERS OF CllRISTLLyS. 

35Y WIfcLlA]\I'LAAV, A. M 

***** ir t>H * l ^l4** i ii. 


FROM TRE FIFrCESril LOSDOS EDITIOR. 


TO WHICH IS ADDED, 

SOM£ ACCOUNT OF THE AUTHOR, 

and 

niREE LETTERS TO A FRIEND 


Ife that, hath 
And behold 


ears to hear^ let him hear.—i^i, Luke vli 
Icome quickly^ and my reward is-with me 

Rev. 


12 . 


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CONTEiNTS. 


V 


' 'CONTENTS. 


CHAP. I. 


COJSTCERJVIJVG the nature and extent of chris 
tian devotion. 




CHAP. II. 


27 

iS~(> 


An enquiry into the reason^ why the generality of 
Christians fall so far short of the holiness and 
devotion of Christianity. 9.6 


CHAP. III. 

Of the great danger and folly of not intending to 
be as eminent and exemplary as we can^ in the 
practice of all Christian virtues. 44 

CHAP. IV. 

We can please God in no state or employment of 
life,, but by intending and devoting it all to his 
honour and glory. 55 


CHAP. V. 

Persons that are free from the necessity of labour 
and employments are to consider themselves as 
devoted to God in a higher degree. 70 


CHAP. VI. 

Containing the great obligations^ arid the great 
advantages of making a wise and religious use 
of our estates and fortunes. 77 

CHAP. VII. 

E[pw the imprudent use of an estate corrupts all 
^the tempers of the mind,, and fills the heart with 
poor and ridiculouspassiongt, through the whole 


86 


covree of life ; rejirescrtted in the character of 

Flavia. *» 


"1* 


CHAP. vm. 

Jlc^ the wise and pious use of an estate, natural¬ 
ly curricth us to great perfection in all the-vir¬ 
tues of the Christian hfe ; represented in the 
eharucter Miranda. 9; 

CHAP. IX. 

Containing some refections upon the life of Mi¬ 
randa ; and shewing how it may, and ought to 
he imitated by all her sex, jO' 

chap. X. 

Shewing how all orders and ranks of men and 
^xomen of all ages, are obliged to devote them¬ 
selves unto God. Jig 

CHAP. XI. 

Shewing how great devotion fils cur Uvea with 
the greatest p'^ace and happiness that can be 
enjoyed in this world. I 3 I 


CHAP. XII. 

The happiness of a life wholly devoted unto God, 
farther proved, from the vanity, the sensuality, 
and the ridiculous, poor enjoyments, which they 
are forced to lake up with, who live according 
to iheir own humors, lids represented in va- 
rious characters. 


CHAP. XIII. 

That not onlyalifeof vanity, or sensuality, 
the most regular kind oj life, that is not gov- 
ernccl by a great devotion, sufficiently shews 
77.9 miseries, .9 wants, and emptiness, z^o the eyes 
of all the world. This represented in various 
characters. 


i 


CHAP. XIV. 

'oncerning that part of devotion which relates to 
times and heurs of prayer. Of daily early 


CONTENTS. 


V 


firaijcr in the morning. Hokv ‘ioc arc to im^ 
prove our forms of prayer.f and hov) to increase 
the spirit of devotioti. 17S 


GHAP. XV. 

Of chanting or singing of Psalms in our private 
devotions. Of the excellency and benef of 
this kind of devotion. Of the great cjfects it 
hath upon our hearts. Of the means of per¬ 
forming it in the best manner. 195 

CHAP. XVI. 

Retommending devotion at nine clock in the 
morning^ called in Scripture the third hour of 
the day. The subject of these prayers is hu¬ 
mility. 212 


CHAP. XVII. 

Shelving hov) difficult the practice of humility is 
madey by the general spirit and temper of the 
world. How Christianity requireth us to live 
contrary to the world. 224 

CHAP. XVHI. 

Shewing how the education which men generally 
receive bi their youth., makes the doctrine of hu¬ 
mility difficult to be practised. The spirit of a 
better education^ represented in the character 
o/Paternus. 

CHAP. XIX. 

Shewing how the method of educating daughters^ 
makes it difficult for them to enter into the spirit 
of Christian humility. Ho%v miserably they are 
injured and abused by such an education. The 
spirit of a better education represented in the 
character of Eusebia. 250 

CHAP. XX. 

Recommending devotion at twelve o^clockj called 
in Scripture the sixth hour of the day. This 
frequency of devotion equally desirable by all 

A 2 


CONTEiSlS. 


orders of peofile. Universal love is here rr- 
commended to be the subject of prayer at this 
hour. Of intercession^ as an act of universal 
love. 370 ’ 

CHAP. XXI. 

Of the necessity and 0 /intercession, cori-. 

sidered as an exercise of universal love. How 
all orders of men are to pray and intercede 
with God for one another. How naturally such 
intercession amends and reforms the hearts of 
those that use it. 291 

CHAP. XXII. 

Recommending devotion at three 0 ^clock, called in 
Scripture the ninth hour of the day. The sub¬ 
ject of prayer at this hour, is resignation to the 
divine pleasi^re. The nature and duty of con¬ 
formity to the will of God in all our actions and 
designs. OQ 3 ' 

CHAP. XXHI. 

Of evening prayer. Of the nature and necessity 
of examination. How we are to be particular 
in the confession of all our sins. How we are 
to fill our minds with a just horror and dread 
of all sin. 


32 i 


CHAP. XXIV. 

The conclusion. Of the Excellency and Great- 
r.ees of a devout Spirit. 


SOME ACCOUNT 

OF THE 

REV. WILLIAM LAW. 


To ‘which are subjoined Ttoo Letters from Clergymen in the' 
established Churchy strongly recommending tfie SERJOUS’ 
CALL, and other “works of the Jiuthor ; also his character. 
&c. by Edward Gibbon, Esq. the Roman historian, and a 
list of all his works. 


r‘ ‘ ' 

town of 

King’s Cliffe, in the county of. Northampton, in the 
year 1686 ; his education, and the early years of his 
life, were very serious; at what time he entered the 
University, or when he took his degreeof A.M. cannot 
be exactly ascertained, but his leaving that place was 
about the year 1712: after having made great profi¬ 
ciency in every branch of human literature, afterwards 
taking the advice of our Saviour to the rich young 
' paan, he totally renounced the world, and followed 
Christ, in meekness, humility, and self-denial. 

, Mr. Law was a bachelor all his life-time : in person, 
he w'as a well set man, and rather of a dark complex¬ 
ion, though remarkably cheerful in his temper ; such 
was his love of privacy, and a state of recdllcction, that 
it was very seldom indeed that he passed more than 
two hours in the company of any person ; with a very 
?mall patrimony, he was remarkably charitable, par¬ 
ticularly to his poof neighbors, the manufacturers of 
wooden ware, in and about King’s Cliffe ; in this bene^ 
volent disposition he was joined by the two maiden 
ladies, with whom he resided at King’s Cliffe ; their 
object was not to encourage the idle and dissolute^ 
but to promote and facilitate the good intentions and 


SOME ACCOUNT OP 


ilii 

endeavors of the industrious. Such also was the little 
value he set on money, that he gave the copies of all 
his i^^orks intended for publication to his bookseller; 
but for one of them, Messrs. Richardson and Urquhart, 
insisted upon his acceptance of one hundred guineas. 

We shall now relate part of what he uttered in his 
fast illness, which was witnessed by the friend to whom 
he addressed the three letters which accompany this 
w’ork.—Just before his blessed soul took its happy 
flight, to dwell for ever with the saints in bliss ; the 
heavenly glory so opened itself in him, that he broke 
forth into the following exultation, which, shewing the 
truth of his own highly regenerate state, as well as the 
joyful reality of the life of God in the soul of man, 
deserves to be written in letters of gold, not only to 
coftvince the infidel, but also to c6mfort and confirm 
the pious pilgrim, in his journey, through the thorny 
wilderness of this world, into t^ie peaceful regions of 
immortal bliss. 

“ Away with these filthy garmentssaid this dying 
Saint, “ I feel a sacred fire kindled in my soul, which 
w ill destroy every thing contrary to itself, and burn as 
a flame of divine love to all eternity.” 

In such a triumph of holy joy did this extraordinary 
servant of God resign his blessed spirit into the hands 
of his beloved Lord and Master, at the place of his 
nativity, the town of King*s Cliffe, in the county of 
Northampton. And in the church-yard of that parish, 
he lies interred, under a handsome tomb, erected to 
his memory, by a particular and dear friend. W ho lived 
many years with him, and therefore had long know'ii, 
and highly and justly esteemed his singular worth; 
which was expressed in the following lines, cngi-avcn 
by the direction of the same friend, on the top-stor.e 
of his tomb. 

Here lietli the tody 

OF THE LATP: 

Rev. WILLIAM LAW, a. m 

M HO DIED APRIL P, 1761,. 

.iCFD 75. 


THE llEV. W. LAW, , 

Hew as \yell known to the world by a number of truly 
Christian, pious writings, exemplified by a life spent in 
a manner suitable to a worthy and true disciple of his 
lieavenly, divine, crucified master and Saviour Jesus 
C H RI ST, who lived and spoke in him and by him. In 
his younger days he sufficiently distinguished himself 
by his parts and progress in human literature. After¬ 
wards taking the advice of our Saviour to the rich 
yoimg man, he totally renounced the world and follow¬ 
ed Cjirist, in meekness, humility and self-denial. And 
in his last years he was wholly absorbed in his love to 
Uod and mankind ; so that virtue in him was nothin? 
but heavenly Jove and heavenly flame. 

In parts, and sense, inferior to none, 

With wit most amiable, with learning stored; 

His talents great and high were quite sublimed, 

In loving God with all his heart and mind. 

His time was all employ’d in things divine, 
lly serving God, in goodness to mankind. 

The poor, the maim’d, the blind have lost in him, 
The kind protector, and the ready friend. 

Some time after his decease the foiloiving verses 

appeared in print : 

To the memory of that excellent man, and truly illu¬ 
minated divine, the late Rev. William Law, 
A. M. These following lines arc eff'ered by one who 
has received great benefit from his most valuable 
works.- 


FAREw'ELL,good man! whose great and heav’nly mind, 
In love embrac’d the whole of human kind. 

From earth’s dark scene, to realms of joy and lieht, 
Thy soul congenial, took her happy flight; 

With kindred spirits mix’d, and bright as they. 

Thou drink’st with them the streams of endless day : 
AVhile we below lament thy absence most. 

Like all true worth, then dearest, when ’tis lost. 


SOME ACCOUNT Or 


Bound to no sect, to no one party tied, 

To sons of God in ev*ry clime allied: 

Like light's great orb, to no one realm confin’d, 

Thy heav’n taught soul capacious grasp’d mankind; 
Of pains severe, thou felt’st the tort’ring smart, 
While grace pour’d comfort on thy better part. 

Thy will resign’d, with breath unmurm’ring bore, 
*Thy last sharp passage to the heav’nly shore. 

Thy heart’s best image, still, thy writings, shine, 

One spirit breathe, the dove and lamb divine, j^charm, 
Though stopt thy tongue, thy soul’s strong breathings 
Thou'rh cold thy clay, thy ardent thoughts still warnv 
Awak’d by thee, we feel the heav’hly fire, 

And with seraphic flames to God aspire ; 

Thy pious zeal transfus’d to other hearts. 

New springs of bliss, and iioblei life imparts. 

No time, no numbers, can exhaust thy mine, 

Thy gifts are full: posterity is thine. 

Through future ages shall thy labours go, 

Like streams, enriching nations as they flow; 

Who, while perusing, catch the sacred fire, 

Fetch the deep sigh, and pant with strong desire, 

For glory lost: heav’h lent thy pencil rays. 

To paint that glory, and diffuse its blaze, 

Though for these days thy colours are too brighr,^ 
And hurt weak eyes by their too radiant light; . 

Yet wisdom’s sons, tho* few, to good awake, ' 

Drink thy sweet spring, and bread celestial break. 
’Midst Babel’s various tongues, tho’ thousands stray, 
In thee, the wanderer finds his master’s way. 

In heaps let critics, commentators, lie. 

Thy works will make a Christian library. 

In vain shall malice seek to wound thy name. 

Or ignorance thy solid worth defame. 

Retract your censures, you who dare be good ; 
Confess your head' ne’er yet have understood 
The pearls, which God to mystic sons reveal’d ; 

From the presumptuous, wisdom’s fount is seal’d. 

Yet this her child, wants no man’s pen to praise, 

Nor slander dreads in these degen’rate days ; 

* His end was hastened by a suppression of urine. 


THE REV. W. LAW. 


Xi 

Far nobler monuments will guard his faine, 

Deep in their breasts the good engrave liis name. 

The following is the remarks of Edward Gibbon> 
Esq. on the Rev. Mr. E^tw, and his works, extracted 
from his memoirs in 2 vols. 4to. 


His words are: 

« Mr. Law died at an advanced age, of a suppression 
of urine, in 1761, at the house of Mrs. Hesther Gib¬ 
bon, known by the name of the Cliffe, in Northamp¬ 
tonshire, where she still resides. In that family he 
has left the reputation of a worthy and eminently pious 
man, who believed all that he professed, and practised 
all that he enjoined. The character of a Non-juror, 
which he held to the last, is a sufficient evidence of 
the tenaciousness of his principles in Cnurch and State; 
and the sacrifice of his interest to his conscience will 
be always respectable. 

His thological writings, which our domesric con¬ 
cerns induced* me to read, preserve an amiable though 
imperfect sort of life, in my opinion ; but here, per* 
haps, I pronounce with more confidence than know¬ 
ledge on the merits of the man no pen can justify. His 
last composition seemed tinctured too much with the 
mystic enthusiasm of Jacob Behmen; and his discourse 
on the absolute unlawfulness of the stage may be 
called a ridiculous intemperance of sentiment and 
language. 

“ But these sallies of phrenzy must not extinguish 
the praise that is due to Mr Law, as a wit and a^ scho¬ 
lar. His argument on topics ot less absurdity is spe¬ 
cious and acute ; his manner is lively, his style forcible 
and clear; and, had not the vigour of his mind been 
clouded by enthusiasm, he might be ranked with the 
most agreeable and ingenious writers of the times. 

“ While the Bangorian controversy was a fashiona¬ 
ble theme, he entered the lists. He resumed the con¬ 
test again with Bishop Hoadly, in which his Non- 
juring principles appear, though he approves himself 
equal to both Prelates. 


SOME ACCOUNT OF 

“ On the appearance of the “ Fable of the Bee<i ’’ 
he drew his pen against the licentiousness of ihe 
doctrine of that writer; and Moralitv r 

must rejoice in his applause and"ktTry 

<.t;ii ® master-piece, the “ Serious Call ” U 

Mill lead as a popular and powerful book of ^votion 

from the knowlidg^e of •’ an‘/”" 

ponraits are not uWorthyThTin ^fTa sTu/erf K 

he wilfsoonTMeTrto *" ’’j? ™ind, 

must allow tho# K • ^ flame ; and a philosopher 

than any of the tribe w“ 

betwer trail cUtradTctn 

Urer Uiermesofp'?™-*'"^^.*'’" 

writer of his day ; the’ flit oTh , "'"‘r"* 

insert, together with two exce lenUetterrfrom rer °''' 
men m the established Church refprr.r , n 

to die State and condhitrad' otlrof Chrit,' 
Svo.' ”P°" Christian Perfection, 

4 ’ Rem? R^ngor, Svo 

and fully stated Natural Religion, fairly 

Discourse ontie^^Follv n Trapp’s 

Hghteousover mu£ 8;:o 


THE REV. W. LAW. 


»iii 


8. The Grounds and Reasons of Christian Regene¬ 
ration, 8 VO. 

9. A Demonstration of the gross and fundamental 

^ plain Account of the 
Natuie and End of the Sacrament of the Lord’s Sup¬ 
per, atfectionately addressed to all Orders of Men, and 
more especially to all the younger Clergy, 8vo. 

10 An Appeal to all that doubt or disbelieve the 
1 ruths of the Gospel, 8vo. 

11. The Spirit of Prayer; or the Soul risins; out of 
the vanity of time into the Riches of Eternity. In Two 
Parts, 8vo. 

12. The spirit of Love. In Two Parts, 8vo. 

13. The Way to Divine Knowledge; being several 
Dialogues between Humanus, Academicus, Rusticus, 
and Theophilus, as preparatory to a new Edition of the 
Works of Jacob Behmen, and the right Use of them 

8 VO. ’ 


14. A short but sufficient Confutation of the Rev 
Dr. \Varburton’s projected Defence (as he calls it) of 
Christianity, in his Divine Legation of Moses. In a 
Letter to the Right Rev. the Lord Bishop of London. 

15. A Collection of Letters on the most interesting 
and important Subjects, and on several Occasions, 8vo. 

16. Of Justification by Faith and Works; a Dia¬ 
logue between a Methodist and a Churchman, 8vo. 

17. An humble, earnest, and affectionate Address to 
the Clergy, 8vo. 


Scarborough^ December 21, 1771, 


L «Sir, 


“-Sunt certa piacula, quae te 

Ter pure lecto poterunt recreare libello.’* Hor 

“ As I have an universal love and esteem for all man¬ 
kind, so particularly for my brethren of the Established 
Church, of which I should think myself an unworthy 
member, did 1 not take all opportunities of doing good 
according to the abilities with which God has enabled 
me. But as I have ever thought a concern for men’s 



AIV 


SOME ACCOUNT OF 


souls to be preferable to that of their bodies, so I have 
in a more especial manner extended my charity to 
that better part. We live in an age wherein numerous 
objects present themselves to our view, that are destitute 
of every virtue that can make them worthy of the di¬ 
vine favour, and consequently there never will be want¬ 
ing occasions for exercising ourselves in a laudable en¬ 
deavour to their amendment. I, for my own part, 
though I live, (when at home) in a small country village, 
have had sufficient work upon my hands to bring my 
parishioners to any tolerable degree of piety and good¬ 
ness ; I preached and laboured amongst them inces¬ 
santly, and yet, after all, was convinced my work had 
been as fruitless as casting pearls before swine ; the 
drunkard continued his nocturnal practices, and the 
voice of the swearer was still heard in our streets. How¬ 
ever, I was determined to leave no means untried for 
bringing this profane and obdurate people to a sense of 
their duty ; accordingly I purchased many religious 
books, and distributed them amongst them : but, alas I 
I could perceive no visible effects. In short, I had the 
grief to find, that all my labour had proved in vain and 
was ready to cry out with St. Paul, who is sufficient 
for these things ? About this time I happened to peruse 
a treatise of Mr. Law’s, intituled, “ A serious Call to a 
devout and holy Lifewith which (if I may be allowed 
the expression) I was so charmed and greatly edified, 
that I resolved my flock should partake of the same spi¬ 
ritual food; I therefore gave to each person in my par¬ 
ish one of those useful books, and charged them upon 
my blessing (for I consider them as my children) to care¬ 
fully peruse the same. My perseverance was now re¬ 
warded with success; and I had the satisfaction of be¬ 
holding my people reclaimed, from a life of folly and 
impiety, to a life of holiness and devotion. 

“ Before I conclude, I must beg leave to recomnxend 
the afore-mentioned book to the perusal of all your read¬ 
ers ; and I heartily wish they may receive as much 
benefit therefrom, as those have who are committed to 
my charge. 

“ This excellent treatise is wrote in a strong and ner¬ 
vous style, and abounds with many new and sublime 


THE REV. W. LAW. 


XV 


thoughts: in a word, one may say of this book as Sir 
Richard Steel did of a discourse of Dr. South's, that it 
has in it whatever wit and wisdom can put together; 
and I will venture to add, that whoever sits down with¬ 
out prejudice and attentively reads it throughout, will 
rise up the wiser man and better Christian. 

“ It remains now only that 1 mention a w'ord or two 
concerning the author. This worthy clergyman has 
been accused (by tliose lukewarm Christians, who ridi¬ 
cule all degrees of piety, that are above the common 
standard) of Methodism ; a charge as false as it is cruel. 
I say not this as my own private opinion, but from the 
testimony of several gentlemen of undoubted credit, who 
are acquainted with his manner of life and conversation. 
Indeed, this is sufRcienily demonstrated in many parts 
of this author's works, particularly in his Three I^etters 
to the Bishop of Bangor, wherein he writes in vindica¬ 
tion of the rites and ceremonies of the Church of Eng¬ 
land. All which evidently declare the reverend author 
to be an orthodox divine, and an indefatigable labourer 
in the Lord’s vineyards 

OURANIUS.’' 

2 . “ Sir, Xorth-Cra’ivleij’i Feb. 6th, 1772. 

‘‘ I perused the letter signed Ouranius in your paper* 
with that cordial complacency which every faithful stew¬ 
ard must feel, from observing the furtherance of his 
master's interest r and I devoutly wish that every other 
fellow'-Iabourer was as assiduous in sowing the good 
seed, as the enemy seems in sowing the tares. 

“ But while I opprove and applaud Ouranius’s zeal 
in recommending that excellent practical summary of 
Christian duty, the Serious Call, I seem to regret the 
limitation of it to that treatise alone, when to me it ap¬ 
pears that a serious attention to those sublime tracts of 
the same divinely illuminated writer, “ The Spirit of 
Prayer,’' and “ The Spirit of Love,'’ would be produc¬ 
tive of at least equal advantages, especially at a season 
when the serpent is winding about, insinuating his dead- 

• This and the preceding Letter originally appeared in Lloyd’“ 
Evening Post. 


SOME ACCOUNT OF 


ly poison in arrogant illustrations, and antichristian 
ramily Bibles. 

To know whom we worship, to entertain proper 
notions of GOD, is the first necessary principle of true 
religion. And these volumes are calculated to convey 
such exalted and amiable ideas of God, and to unfold in 
so rational and delightful a manner, the great mysteries 
of redemption and regeneration, that whoever peruses 
tiiem with candour and attention will find in them a 
peifect key to the Holy Scriptures, « having (if I may 
be allowed the sacred language) the glory of God, and 
nis light, liK.e unto a stone most precious, clear as crystal.’' 
Audy beside informing his understanding, if they do not 
elevate his heart to an exalted pitch of love and devo¬ 
tion to his great .benefactor, and cause it to overflow in 
streams of grateful benevolence to ail mankind, he must 
be among those obdurate insensibles who need our nitv 
and our prayers. ^ 

“ 1 he happy effects here promised are not the mere 
speculative conjectures of fancy, for I have only describ- 
cd what were my own feeling upon the same occasion. 
And 1 will fartner vtmture to declare, that I received 
more hgntand satisfaction from the perusal of these little 
volumes, than 1 had been able to extract from many vol¬ 
umes ot letter-learned commentators, darkened illustra¬ 
tions and bodies of Divinity, which I had before carc- 
luiiy read with the same temper and desire. 

“ l am so far in the same unfortunate predicam,ent 
With Ouranius, never to have enjoyed the blessedness of 
that ho;y man s conversation ; but I have it well authen- 
Ucated that he faithfully practised what he taught, or 
m Bur.att s words, that his was “ a preaching life as 
e I as a preachmg doctrine.” And that pious disregard 
and contempt of the riches and honours of the wmdd 
V. nicn he so pathetically recommends to others, himaeK 
eminently displayed in refusing some of the best nre^ 
.ermeiits m the bishop of London's gift, when proffered 

hL in reward of the unanswera¬ 

ble letters to the bishop of Bangor. 

^ I'e charge of Methodism I never heard insinuated 
against him, and could proceed only from those who 
must be totally ignorant of the tenets k that sett, or -r. 


THE REV. W LAW. 


-wa 


iicquainted with any among the waitings of our able de¬ 
fender of church discipline and authority, and especially 
of the last except one, “on justification by Faith and 
Works.” 

“ But not to leave myself liable to reprehension for 
the partiality I have noticed in another, I am persuaded, 
that wdioever has imbibed knowledge at this pure foun¬ 
tain wdll never cease thirsting while there remains a 
d rop of the sacred spring untasted- And that every 
scrip of that divinely-directed pen may be as extensive 
as was the writer’s benevolence, is the ardent prayer of 
your sincere well wisher, 

“Theophilos.” 

Yours, Szc, Z. Cozens. 

The following arc the Author’s Letters to a Friend. 
LETTER i* 

Worthy and dear Sir, 

MY heart embraces you, with all the tenderness and 
affection of Christian love ; and I earnestly beg of God 
to make me a messenger of his peace to your soul. 

You seem to apprehend I may be much surprised at 
tho account you have given of yourself. But, Sir, I am 
neither surprised nor offended at it. I neither condemn 
nor lament your state : but shall endeavour to shew you 
how soon it maybe made a blessing and happiness to you. 
In order to which, I shall not enter into a consideration 
of the different kinds of trouble you have set forth at 
large. I think it better to lay before you the one true 
ground and root, from whence all the evil r^nd disorders 
of human life have sprung. This will make it easy for 
you to see what that is, which must and only can, be the 
full remedy and reliel for all of them, how different 
soever, either in kind or degree. 

The scripture has assured us, that God made man in 
his owm image and likeness ; a sufficient proof, that man, 
in his first state, as he came forth from God, must have 

* The first of these Letters was written in the year 1749 
the second, in the veur 1750, and the last about the year 175T. 

B 2 


SOME A<ic6tJN r OP 


XViil. 

been absolutely free from all vanity, want, or distress of 
any kind, from any thing, either within or without him. 
It would be quite absurd and blasphemous to suppose^ 
that a creature beginning to exist in the image and like¬ 
ness of God, should have a vanity of life, or vexation of 
spirit. A God-like perfection of nature, and a painful 
distressed nature, stand in the utmost contrariety to one 
another. 

Again, the scripture has assured us, that man that is 
born of a woman hath but a short time to live, and is full 
of misery: therefore man now is not that creature that 
he was by his creation. The first divine and God like 
nature of Adam-, which was to have been immortally 
holy in union with God is lost, and instead of it, a poor 
rhortal of earthly flesh and blood, born like a wild ass’s* 
Colt, of a short life and full of misery, isy through a vaiu 
pilgrimage, to end in dust and ashes. Therefore let 
every evil, whether inward or outward, only teach you 
this truth, that man has infallibly lost his first divine life 
in God ; and that no possible comfort, or deliverance, is 
to be expected, but only in this one thing, that though 
rhan had lost his God, yet God is become man, that man, 
may be again alive in God, as at his first creation. For 
all the misery and distress of human nature, whether of 
body or mind, is wholly owing to this one cause, that 
God is not in man, nor man in God, as the state of his* 
nature reqmres ; it is because man has lost that first life 
of God in his soul, in and for which he was created. He 
lost this light and spirit and life of God, by turning, 
his will, imagination, and desire into a tasting and sensi¬ 
bility of the good and evil of this earthly, bestial world. 

, Now here arc two things raised up in man, instead of 
the life of God:—First; selforseifishness,brought forth 
by his choosing to have a wisdom of his own, contrary ta 
the will and instruction of his Creator.—Secondly • an 
earthly bestial, mortal life and body, brought forth by 
his eatin^that food, which was poison to his paradisical 
nature. Both these must therefore be removed ; that is, 
a man must first totally die to self, and all earthly desires, 
views and intentions, before he can be again in God, as 
his nature and first creation requires. 

But now, if tills be a certain andimmutable truth, that 


THE REV. W. LAW. 


inan so long as he is a selfish earthly minded creature, 
Buist he deprived of his true life, the life of God, the 
spirit of hea .-cn in his soul; then how is the face of 
things changed ! for then, what life is so much to be 
dreaded, as a life of worldly ease and pros^perity ? what a 
misery, nay, what a curse, is there in every thing that 
gratifies and nourishesour self-love, self-esteem, and self- 
seeking ? On the other hand, what a happiness is therer 
in all inward and outward troubles and vexations, when 
they force us to feel and know the hell that is hidden 
within us, and the vanity of everything withoutus : when 
they turn our self-love into self-abhorrence, and force us> 
to call upon God, to save us from ourselves, to give us- 
h new life, new light, and new spirit in Christ Jesus. 

O happy famine ! might the poor prodigal have weli 
saidf “ which by reducing me to the neGOssity of asking 
to eat husks with swine, brought me to myself, ami 
caused my return to my first happiness, in my father’s 
house.” 

Now, sir, I will suppose your distressed state to be 
as you represent it: inwardly, darkness, heaviness, and 
confusion of thoughts and passions ; outwardly, ill usage 
from friends, relations, and all the world ; unable ta 
strike up the least spark of light or comfort, by any 
thought or reasoning of your owm. 

O happy famine, which leaves you not so much as 
the husk of one numan comfort to "feed upon ! For, my 
dear friend, this is the time and place for all that good 
and life, and salvation, to happen to you, which happen^ 
cd to the prodigal son. Your way is as short, and your 
success as certain, as his was. You have no more to 
do than he had. You need not call out for books and 
methods of devotion: for, in your present state, much 
reading and borrowed prayers, are not your best meth¬ 
od. All that you are to offer to God, all that is to 
help you to find him to be your Saviour and Redeemer, 
is best taught and expressed by the distressed state of 
your heart. 

Only let your present and past distress make you feel 
and acknowledge this two-fold great truth: first, that 
in and of yourself, you are nothing but darkness, vanity 
and misery. Secondly, that of yourself, you can no 


XX 


SOME ACCOUNT OF 


inore help yourself to light and comfort, than you can 
create an angel. People, at all times, can seem to as¬ 
sent to these two truths, but then it is an assent ihat 
has no depth or reality, and so is of little or no use. But 
your condition has opened your heart, for a deep and 
full conviction of these truths. Now give way, I be¬ 
seech you, to this conviction, and hold these two truths 
in the same degree of certainty, as you know two and 
two to be four; and then, my dear friend, you are, 
with the prodigal, come to yourself; and above half 

YOUR WORK IS DONE. 

Being now in the full possession of these two truths, 
feeling them in the same degree of certainty, as you 
feel your own existence, you are under this sensibility 
to give yourself absolutely and entirely to God in Christ 
Jesus, as into the hands of infinite love; firmly believ¬ 
ing this great and infallible truth, that God has no will 
towards you, but that of infinite love, and infinite desire 
to make you a partaker of his divine nature ; and that 
it is as absolutely impossible for .the Father of our Lord 
Jesus Christ, to refuse you all that good, and life, and’ 
salvation, which you want, as it is for you to take it by 
your own power. 

G, sir, drink deep of this cup ; for the precious w'ater 
of eternal life is in it. Turn unto God with this faith ; 
cast yourself into this abyss of love ; and then you will 
lie in that state the prodigal was in, when he said, I will 
arise and go to my lather, and will say unto him, father, 
I have sinned against heaven, and before thee, and am 
no more worthy to be called thy son ; and all that, will 
be fulfilled in you, which is related of him. 

Make this, therefore, the two-fold exercise of your 
heart: Now, bowing yourself down before God, in the 
deepest sense and acknowledgment of your own nothing¬ 
ness and vileness ; then, looking up to God in faith and 
love consider him as always extending the arms of his 
mercy towards you, and full of an infinite desire to 
dwell in you, as he dwells in the angels in heaven. 
Content yourself with this inward and simple exercise 
of your heart, for a while ; and seek, or like nothing in 
any book but that which nourishes and strengthens this 
state of your heart. 


THE REV. W. LAW. 


xxi 

Come unto me, says the holy Jesus, all ye that labour, 
and are heavy laden, and I will refresh you. ’ Here, my 
dear friend, is more for you to live upon, more light 
for your mind, more of unction for your he-art, than in 
volumes of human instruction. Pick up the words of 
the holy Jesus, and beg of him to be the light and life 
of your soul : Love the sound of his name for Jesus 
is the love, the sweetness, the meekness,the compassion¬ 
ate goodness of the Deity itself; which became man, 
that so men might have power to become the sons of 
God. Love, pity, and wish well to every soul in the 
world ; dwell in love, and then you dwell in God : hale 
nothing but the evil that stirs in your own heart. 

Teach your heart this prayer till your heart continu¬ 
ally saith, though not with outward words: “ O holy 
Jesus, meek Lamb of God 1 Bread that came down from 
heaven ! Light and life of all holy souls ! help me to 
a true and living faith in thee. O do thou open thyself 
within me, wdth all thy holy nature, spirit, tempers, and 
inclinations, that I may be born again of thee ; and be 
in thee a new creature, quickened and revived, led and 
governed by thy holy spirit.’* 

Yours in all Christian affection, 

W. LAW. 


LETTER Th 


My dear worthy Friend^ 


July 20. 


Whom I heartily love in the unity of the spirit of 
Christ. Your long letter I received some time the last 
month, and read with much pleasure. For, long as it 
was, I did not wish it to be shorter, I bless God for 
that good and right spirit, which breathed in every part 
of it. As it required no immediate answer, and you 
left me to my own lime, so I did not intend to write till 
last week ; but by accidental affairs, have been hindered 
from complying with my intention till now. 

Your judgment has failed you in nothing, but in 
thinking your letter would be disagreeable to me; or that 
my answer was deferred on that account. Every crea¬ 
ture has my love; but persons of your spirit kindle in me 


SOME ACCOUNT OF 


3.xii 

every holy affection of honour and esteem towards them,- 
Love with its fruits of meekness, patience, and humility, 
is all that I wish, for myself, and every human creature : 
For this is to live in God, united to him, both for time 
and eternity. Would you have done wuth error, scru¬ 
ple and delusion, consider the Deity (as I have said) to 
be the greatest love, the greatest meekness, the greatest 
sweetness ; the eternal unchangeable will to be a good 
and blessing to every creature ; and that all the misery, 
darkness and death, of fallen angels, and fallen men, con¬ 
sists in their having lost this divine nature. Consider 
yourself, and all the fallen world, as having nothing to 
seek or wish for, but by the spirit of prayer to draw into 
the life of your soul, rays and sparks of this divine, 
meek, loving, tender nature of God. Consider the holy 
Jesus as the gift of God to your soul, to begin and finish 
the birth of God and heaven within you, in spite of eve¬ 
ry inward or outward enemy. These three infallible 
truths heartily embraced, and made the nourishment of 
your soul, shorten and secure the way to heaven, and 
leave no room for error, scruple, or delusion. The 
poverty of our fallen nature, the depraved workings of 
flesh and blood, the corrupt tempers of our polluted 
birth in this world, do us no hurt, so long as the spirit 
of prayer works contrary to them, and longs for the 
first birth of the light and spirit of heaven. 

All our natural evil ceases to be our owm evil, as soon 
as our will-spirit turns from it: it then changes its na¬ 
ture, loses all its poison and death, and only becomes 
our holy cros^, on which we happily die from self, and 
this world, into the kingdom of heaven. 

I much congratulate you on your manner of prayer : 
so practised, it becomes the life of the soul, and the true 
food of eternity. Keep in this state of application to 
God, and then you will infallibly find it to be the way 
of rising out of the vanity of time, into the riches of 
eternity. 

Do not expect or look for the same degrees of sensible 
fervour.—The matter lies not there—Nature will have 
its share ; but the ups and downs of that are to be over¬ 
looked.—Whilst your will-spirit is good, and set right, 
the changes of creaturely fervour lessen not your union 


THE REV. W. LAW. 


XX iu 

with God. It is the abyss of the heart, an unfathom¬ 
able depth of eternity within us, as much above sensible 
fervour, as heaven is above earth ; it is this that works 
our way to God, and unites us with heaven. This 
abyss of the heart, is the divine nature and power within 
Us, which never calls upon God in vain, but whether 
helped or deserted by bodily fervour, penetrates through 
all outward nature, as easily and effectually as our 
thoughts can leave our bodies, and reach intothe regions 
of eternity. 

I am, with hearty prayers to 
God for you, 

Your truly affectionate 

Friend and servant, 

W. LAW. 

LETTER III. 


My Dear L - 

I am greatly rejoiced at your expressing so feeling a 
sense of the benefit of prayer ; and hope you will every 
day be more and more raised to, and united with God, 
by it. 

I love no mysterious depths, or heights of specula¬ 
tion, coVet no knowledge, want to see no ground of 
nature, grace, and creature, but so far as it brings me 
nearer to God, forces me to forget and renounce every 
thing for him, to do every thing in him, and for him; 
and to give every breathing, moving, stiring inten¬ 
tion and desire of my heart, soul, spirit and life to him. 

It is for the sake of the spirit of prayer, that I have 
endeavoured to set so many points of religion in such a 
view as must dispose the reader, willingly to give up all 
that he inherits from his fallen father, to be all hunger 
and thirst after God, and have no thought or care, but 
how to be wholly his devoted instrument, every where, 
and in every thing, his adoring, joyful, and thankful 
servant. 



2X1V 


&OME ACCOUNT OF 


When it is the one ruling, never ceasing desire of our- 
hearts, that God may be the beginning and end, the 
reason and motive, of our doing or not doing, from 
morning to night; then every where, whether speaking 
or silent, whether inwardly or outwardly employed, we 
are equally offered up to the eternal Spirit, have our 
life in him, and from him, and are united to him by 
that spirit of prayer, which is the comfort, the support, 
the strength, and security of the soul travelling, by the 
help of God, through the vanity of time into the riches 
of eternity. 

My dear friend, have eyes shut and ears stopped, to 
every thing, that is not a step in that ladder that reaches 
from earth to heaven. 

Reading is good, hearing is good, conversation and 
rneditation are good; but then they are only good at 
times and occasions, in a certain degree: and must be 
used and governed with such caution, as we eat and 
drink, and refresh ourselves, or they will bring forth in 
us the fruits of intemperance. 

But the spirit of prayer, is for all times, and all occa¬ 
sions ; it is a lamp that is to be always burning, a light 
that is ever shining: every thing calls for it, every thing 
is to be done in it, and governed by it. Because it is, 
and means, and wills nothing else but the totality of 
the soul, not doing this, or that, but wholly, incessantly 
given up to God, to be where, and what, and how he 
pleases. 

This state of absolute resignation, naked faith and 
pure love of God, is the highest perfection and most pu¬ 
rified life ; of those who are born again from above, and 
through the Divine Power, become sons of God. And 
is neither more nor less,than whatourblesscd Redeemer 
has called and qualified us to long and aspire after, in 
these words, “ Thy kingdom corne ; thy will be done, 
on earth as in heaven.” 

Near the conclusion of yours, you sav, since your last 
to me, you have met with a great many trials disagree¬ 
able to flesh and blood, but that adhering to God, is 
always your blessed relief. 

Yet permit me on this occasion, to transcribe a mem- 


TllR REV. W. L\W. 


XXV 


oranclum or two, from an old scrap of paper, which has 
long lain by me for my own use. 

1. Receive every inward and outward trouble, every 
disappointment, pain, uneasiness, darkness, temptation, 
and desolation, with both thy hands, as a true opportu¬ 
nity, and blessed occasion, of dying to self, and entering 
into a fuller fellowship with thy self-denying, suffering 
Saviour. 


2. Look at no inward, or outward trouble, in any 
other view, reject every other thought about it; and 
then every kind of trial and distress, will become the bless¬ 
ed day of thy prosperity. 

3. Be afraid of seeking or finding comfort in any 
thing but God alone. For that which gives thee com¬ 
fort, takes so much of thy heart from God. “ Quid est 
cor purum ? cui ex toto, et pure sufficit solus Deus, cui 
nihil sapit, quod nihil delcctat, nisi Deus.*’ That is, 
What is a pure heart ? One to which God alone is to¬ 
tally and purely sufficient; to which nothing relishes or 
gives delight, but God alone. 

4. That state is best, which exerciseth the highest 
faith in, and fullest resignation to God. 

5. What is it that you want and seek, but that God 
may be all in all in you ? But how can this be, unless 
all creaturely good and evil, become as nothing in you, 
and to you ? 

Oh anima mea, abstrahe te ab omnibus. Quid tibi 
cum mutabilibus creaturis ? Solum sfionsum tunrn^ qui 
omnium est author creaturarum, expectans, hoc age, ut 
cor tuum ille liberum et expeditum semper inveniat, 
quoties illi ad ipsum venire placuerit.” That is, O my 
soul ! withdraw thyself from all things. What hast 
thou to do with changeable creatures ? Waiting and ex¬ 
pecting thy bridegroom, who is the author of all crea¬ 
tures, let it be thy only care, that he may find thy heart 
free and disengaged, as often as it shall please him to 
visit thee. 

I thank you for your kind offer about the manuscript 
in the sale, but have no curiosity that way. I have had 
all that I can have from books. I leave the rest to God. 
I have formerly given away many of the Jives good 

o 


SOME ACCOUNT OF, Ac. 

jlrmellcy so can have no dislike to your doing the same. 
I have often wished for some, or several little things of 
that kind, though more according to my mind ; by which 
the meanest capacities might, in an easy manner, be led 
mCo the heart and spirit of religion. 


Dear Man, adieu. 


A 


SERIOUS CALI. 

TO A 

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 


CHAP. I. 

Concerning theMiture and Extent of Christian Devotion, 

DEVOTION is neither private nor public pray¬ 
er ; but prayers, whether private or public, are particular 
parts or instances of devotion. Devotion signifies a 
life given, or devoted to God. 

He therefore is the devout man, who lives no longer 
to his own will, or the way and spirit of the world, but 
to the sole will of God, who considers God in every 
thing, who serves God in every thing, who makes all 
the parts of his common life, parts of piety, by doing 
every thing in the name of Goel, and under such rules as 
are conformable to his glory. 

We readily acknowledge, that God alone is to be the 
rule and measure of our prayers, that in them we are to 
look wholly unto him, and act wholly for him, that we 
are only to pray in such a manner, for such things, and 
such ends as are suitable to his glory. 

Now let any one but find out the reason why he is to 
be thus strictly pious in his prayers, and he wdll find tlie- 
same as strong a reason to be as strictly pious in ail the 
other parts of his life. For there is not the least shadow^ 
of a reason, why we should make God the rule and 
measure of our prayers, why we should then look wholly 
unto, him, and pray according to hh will;, but what 


2S 


A SERIOUS CALL TO A 


equally proves it necessary for us to look wholly unto 
and make him the rule and measure of all the 
other actions of our life. P’or any ways of life, any cm-» 
pioyment of our talents, whether of our parts, our time 
or money, that is not strictly according to the will of 
(xod, that is not for such ends as are suitable to -his 
glory, arc as great absurdities and failings, as prayers 
that arc not according to the will of God, For there is 
no otlier reason why our prayers should be according to 
the will of God, why they should have nothing in them, 
but what is wise, and holy, and heavenly, thevQ is no 
other reason for this, but that our lives may be of the 
same nature, full of the same w'isdom, holiness and hea¬ 
venly tempers, that we may live unto God in the same 
spirit that we pray unto him. Were it not our strict 
duty to live by reason, to devote all the actions of our. 
lives to God, were it not absolutely necessary to walk 
before him in wisdom and holiness and all heavenly con¬ 
versation, doing every thing in his name, and for his 
glory, there would be no excellency or wisdom in the 
most heavenly pray^jrs. Nay, such prayers w-ould be 
absurdities, they w^duld be like prayers for wings, when 
it was no part of our duty to fry. 

♦ As sure therefore as there is any wisdom in praying- 
for the spirit of G.od, so sure is it, that we arc to rnakc 
that spirit the rule of all our actions ; as sure as it is our 
duty to look wholly unto God in our prayers, so sure is 
it, that it is ou.r duty to live wholly unto God in our 
lives. But we can no more be said to live unto God,, 
unless w c liye unto him in all the ordinary actions of our 
litc, unless he be the rule and measure of all our ways, 
than wc can be said to pray unto God, unless our pray-s 
ers look wholly unto him. So that unreasonable aiicl 
absurd ways of life, whether in labour or diversion, 
AO 1, ether they consume our time or our money, arc like 
unreasonable and absurd prayers, and are as truly an o.G 
fence unto God. 

It is lor w^ant of knowing, or at least consideri;ng this, 
that we see such a mixture of ridicule in the lives of many 
people. You see them strict as to some times and 
places of devotion ; but when the service of the church 
is over, they arc but like those th^t ^eWqm or n^ver come 


DEVOCT ANB HOLY LIFE. 


29 


there. In their way of life, their manner of spending 
their time and money, in their cares and fears, in their 
pleasures and indulgences, in their labour and diversions 
they are like the rest of the world. This makes the loose 
part of the world generally make a jest of those that arc 
devout, because they see their devolion goes no far¬ 
ther than their prayers, and that when they are over, 
they live no more unto God, till the time of prayer returns 
again; but live by the same humour and fancy, and in 
as full an enjoyment of all the follies of life, as other 
people. This is the reason why they are the jest and' 
scorn of careless and worldly people ; not because they 
are really devoted to God, but because they appear to 
have no other devotion, but that of occasional prayers. 

Julius is very fearful of missing prayers ; all the parish 
supposes Julius to be sick, if he is not at church. But 
if you was to ask him why he spends the rest of his time 
by humour or chance ? v/hy he is a companion of the 
silliest people in their most silly pleasures ? why is he 
ready for every impertinent entertainment and diversion ? 
If you was to ask him why there is no amusement too 
trifling to please him I why he is busy at all balls and 
assemblies I why he gives himself up to an idle gossiping 
conversation ? why he lives in foolbh friendships and' 
fondness for particular persons, that neither want nor 
deserve any particular kindness I why he allows him¬ 
self in foolish hatreds and resentments against particu¬ 
lar persons, without considering that he is to love every 
body as himself? If you ask him why he never puts his 
conversation, his time, and fortune under the rules of 
religion, Julius has no more to say for himself, than the 
most disorderly persons. For the whole tenor of scrip¬ 
ture lies as directly against such a life, as agUinst de¬ 
bauchery and intemperance: He that lives in such a 
course of idleness and folly, lives no more according to 
the religion of Jesus Christ, than he that lives in gluttony 
and intemperance. 

If a man was to tell Julius that there was no occasion 
for so much constancy at prayers, and that he might, 
without any harm to himself, neglect the service of the 
church, as the generality of people do, Julius would 
think such a one to be no Christian, and that he ought 
V 2 


30 


yi si^uioir^ 6£ll to A' 


to avoid his company. But if a person only tells hfm, 
that he may live as the generality of the world does, tliat 
he may enjoy himself as others do, that he may spend 
his time and money as people of fashion do, that he mav 
conform to the follies and frailties of the generality,*jmd 
gratify his tempers and passiohs as most people do, Julius 
never suspects that man to want a Christian’spirit, or that 
he is doing the devil*s work. 

Ahd yet if Julius was to read all the N*ev/ Testament 
from the beginning to the end, he would find his course 
of life condemned in evefy page of it. 

And indeed there cannot any thing be imaghied' more 
absurd in itself, than wise and sublime, and heavenly 
prayers added to a life of vanhy and folly, where neither 
labour nor diversions, neither time nor money, are under 
the direction of the wisdom and heavenly tempers of ouv 
pVayers. If we Were to see a man pretending to act 
wholly with regard to God in' every thing that he did,- 
that would neither spend time or money, or take any 
labour or diversion, but so far as he could act according 
to strict principles of reason and piety, and yet at the 
same time neglect all prayer, whether public or private,' 
should we not be amazed at such a man, and wondeV 
how he could have so much folly along with so much 
feligion r 

Yet this is as reasonable as for any person to piHitend 
to strictness in devotion, to be Careful ot observing timci? 
and places of prayer, and yet letting the rest of his life, 
his time and labour, his' talents and mone^ be disposed 
of. Without any regard to strict rules Of piety and devo~- 
tion, for It is as great an absurdity to suppose holy pray¬ 
ers, and divine petitions, without an holiness of life suita¬ 
ble to them, as to suppose an holy and divine life with¬ 
out prayers. 

Let any one therefore think, how easily he could con¬ 
fute a man that pretended to great strictness of life with¬ 
out prayer, and the same arguments will as plainly con^ 
fute another, that pretends to strictness of prayer 
without carrying the stime strictness into every other 
part of life. For to be weak and foolish in spending our 
time and fortune, is no greater a mistake, than to be 
weak and foolish in relation to our prayers. And to 


DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. Si 

allow ourselves in any ways of life that neither are, not* 
can be offered to God, is the same irreligion as to neglect 
our prayers, or use them in such a manner, as makes 
them an Offering unworthy of God. 

The short of the matter is this, either reason and re¬ 
ligion prescribe rules and ends to all the ordinary actions 
ol lOur life, or they do not: If they do, then it is as ne-* 
cessary to govern all our actions by those rules, as it is 
necessary tO worship God. For if,religion teaOhes us 
any ^ung concerning eating and drinking, or spending 
our time and money, if it teaches us how we are to use 
and contemn the world; if it tells us w hat tempers w'c 
are to have in common life, how w’e are to be disposed 
towards all people, how w'e are to behave towards the 
sick, the poor, the old and destitute ; if it tells us whom' 
we are to treat with a particular love, whom we are to 
regard with a particular esteem : if it tells us how we 
are to treat our enemies, and how we are to mortify and 
deny Otirselves, he may be very weak, that can think 
these parts of religion are not to be observed with as 
much exactness, as any doctrine that relate to prayers. 

It is very observable, that there is not one command 
in all the gospel for public worship; and perhaps it is a 
duty that is least insisted Upon in scripture of any other. 
The frecpient attendance at it is never so much as men¬ 
tioned in all the New Testament. Whereas that reli¬ 
gion or devotion, which is to govern the ordinary actions 
ot otir life, is to be found in almost every verse of scrip¬ 
ture. Our blessed Saviour and his apostles are wholly 
taken up in doctrines that relate to common life. They 
call us to renounce the w'orld, and differ in every temper 
and w'ay of life, from the spirit and way of the w'orld. To 
renounce all its goods, to fear none of its evils, to reject 
its joys, and have no value for its happiness. To be as new 
born babes, that are born into a new state of things, to 
live as pilgrims in spiritual watching, in holy fear, and 
heavenly aspiring after another life. To take up our daily- 
cross, to deny ourselves, to profess the blessedness of 
mourning, to seek the blessedness of poverty of spirit. 
To forsake the pride and vanity of riches, to take no 
thought for the morrow, to live in the profoundest state 
t>f humility, to rejoice in worldly sufferings. To reject 


A SERIOUS CALL TO A 


5^- 

the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the pride 
of life; to bear injuries, to forgive and bless our ene¬ 
mies, and to love mankind as God loveth them. To 
give up our whole heaits and affections to God, and 
strive to enter through the strait gate into a life of eter¬ 
nal glory. 

This is the common devotion which our blessed Sa¬ 
viour taught, in order to make it the common life of all- 
Christians.! Is it not therefore exceeding strange, that 
people should place so much piety in the attendance of 
public worship, concerning which there is not one pre¬ 
cept of our Lord’s to be found, and yet neglect these 
common duties of our ordinary life, which are com¬ 
manded in every page of the gospel ? I call these duties 
the devotion of our common life, because if they are to 
be practised, they must be made parts of our common 
life, they can have no place any where else. 

If contempt of the world, and heavenly affection, is a 
necessary temper of Christians, it is necessary that this 
temper appear in the whole course of their lives, in thein 
manner of using the world, because it can have no place' 
any where else. 

If self-denial be a condition of salvation, all that 
would be saved must make it a part of their ordinary 
life. If humility be a Christian duty, then the common 
life of a Christian is to be a constant course of humility 
in all its kinds. If poverty of spirit be necessary, it must 
be the spirit and temper of every day of our lives. If 
we are to relieve the naked, the sick, and the prisoner, it 
must be the common charity of our lives, as far as we can 
render ourselves able to perform it. If we are to love our 
enemies, w e must make our common life a visible exer¬ 
cise and demonstration of that love. If content and 
thankfulness, if the patient bearing of evil be duties to 
God, they are the duties of every day, and in every cir¬ 
cumstance of our life. If we are to be wise and holy as 
the new-born sons of God, we can no otherwise be so:, 
but by renouncing every thing that is foolish and vain in 
every part of our common life. If we are to be in Christ 
new creatures, we must shew that we are so, by having 
new Vays of living in the world. If we are to follow 


DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 


33 


Christ, it must be in our common way of spending every 

^ay; 

Thus it is in all the virtues and holy temper of Chris¬ 
tianity, they are not ours, unless they be the virtues and 
tempers of our ordinary life. So that Christianity is so 
far from leaving us to live in the common ways of life, 
conforming to the folly of customs, and gratifying the 
passions and tempers which the spirit of the world de¬ 
lights in, it is so far from indulging us in any of these 
things, that all its virtues which it makes necessary to 
salvation, are only so many ways of living above, and 
contrary to the world in all the common actions of our 
life. If our common life is not a common course of hu¬ 
mility, self-denial, renunciation of the world, poverty of 
spirit, and heavenly affection, we do not live the lives of 
Christians. 

But yet though it is thus plain, that this and this alone 
is Christianity, an uniform, open, and visible practice of 
all these virtues ; yet it is as plain, that there is little or 
nothing of this to be found, even among the better sort 
of people. You see them often at church, and pleased 
with fine preachers; but look into their lives, and you 
see them just the same sort of people as others are, that 
make no pretences to devotion. The difference that you 
find betwixt them, is only the difference of their natural 
tempers. They have the same taste of the W'orld, the 
same worldly cares, and fears, and joys; they have the 
same turn of mind, equally vain in their desires, Y^ou 
see the same fondness for state and equipage, the same 
pride and vanity of dress, the same self-love and indul¬ 
gence, the same foolish friendships and groundless ha¬ 
treds, the same levity of mind and trifling spirit, the same 
fondness for diversions, the same idle dispositions and 
vain ways of spending their time in visiting and conver-s 
sation, as the rest of the world, that make no pretences 
to devotion. 

I do not mean this comparison betwixt people seem- 
ingly good and professed rakes, but betwixt people of 
sober lives. Let vis take an instance in two modest w’o- 
men : let it be supposed, that one of them is careful of 
times of devotion, and observes them through a sense of 
duty, and that the other has no hearty concern about it, 


A SERIOUS CALL TO A 




but is at church seldom or often, just as it happens. 
Now it is a very easy thing to see this difference betwixt 
these persons. But when you have seen this, can you 
find any farther differences betwixt them ? Can you find 
that their common life is of a different kind ? Are not 
the tempers, and customs, and manners of the one, of 
the same kind as of the other ? Do they live as if they 
belonged to different worlds, had different views in their 
heads, and different rules and measures of all their ac*^ 
tions ? Have they not the same goods and evils, are they 
not pleased and displeased in the same manner, and for 
the same things; Do they not live in the same course of 
life ? Does one seem to be of this world, looking at the 
things that are temporal, and the other to be of another 
world, looking wholly at the things that are eternal ? 
Does the one live in pleasure, delighting herself in shew 
or dress, and the other live in seif-denial and mortifica- 
tion, renouncing every thing that looks like vanity either 
of person, dress, or carriage ? Does the one follow pub¬ 
lic diversions, and trifle away her time in idle visits and 
corrupt conversation; and does the other study all the 
arts of improving her time, living in prayer and watch¬ 
ing, and such good works as may make all her time turn 
to her advantage, and be placed to her account at the last 
day ? Is the one careless of expense, and glad to be able 
to aciorn herself with every costly ornament of dress ? 
and does the other consider her fortune as a talent given 
her by God, which is to be improved religiously, and no 
more to be spent in vain and needless ornaments, than it 
IS to be buried in the earth ? 


to find one person of religion 
from another that has none ? 


^ Where must you look 

differing in this manner, uom anoiner tnat has none ? 
And yet, if they do not differ in these things, which are 
here related, cai. it with any sense be said, the one is a 
good cliMstian and the other not ? 

1 ake another instance amongst the men. Leo has a 
great deal of good nature, has kept what they call trood 
company, hates every thing that is false and base ; is very 
generous and brave to his friends, liut has concerned 
himself so little witii religion, that he hardly knows the 
difference betwixt a je>v and a Christian. 

Eusebius, on the Qther hand, has had early impressions 


DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 


35 


of religion, and buys books of devotion. He can talk 
of all the feasts and fasts of the church, and knows tiie 
names of most men that have been eminent for piety. 
You never hear him swear or make a loose jest; and 
when he talks of religion, he talks of it, as of a matter of 
the last concern. 

Here you see that one person has religion enough, 
according to the way of the world, to be reckoned a pi¬ 
ous Christian, and the other is so far from all appearance 
of religion, that he may fairly be reckoned a heathen; 
and yet if you look into their common life, if you exam¬ 
ine their chief and ruling tempers in the greatest articles 
of life, or the greatest doctrines of Christianity, you will 
find the least difference imaginable. 

Consider them with regard to the U iC of the world, 
because there is what every body can see. 

Now to have right notions and tempers with relation 
to this world, is as essential to religion, as to have right 
notions of God. And it is as possible for a man to wor¬ 
ship a crocodile, and yet be a pious man, as to have 
his affections set upon this world, and yet be a good 
Christian. 

But now, if you consider Leo and Eusebius in this res¬ 
pect, you will find them exactly alike, ^seeking, using, 
and enjoying all that can be got in this world, in the 
same manner and for the same ends. You will find that 
riches, prosperity, pleasures, indulgences, state, equipage, 
and honour are just as much the happiness of Eusebius 
as they arc of Leo. And yet if enristianity has not 
changed a man’s mind and temper with relation to these 
things, what can we say that it has done for him ? 

For if the doctrines of Christianity were practised, 
they would make a man as different from other people 
as to all worldly tempers, sensual pleasures, and the 
pride of life, as a wise man is different from a natural; it 
would be as easy a thing to know a Christian by his out¬ 
ward course of life, as it is now difficult to find any body 
that lives it. For it is notorious that Christians are 
now not only like other men in their frailties and infir¬ 
mities ; this might be in some degree excusable; but the 
complaint is, they are like heathens in all the main and 
chief articles 9f their lives. They enjoy the world, and 


86 


A SERIOUS CALL TO A 


live cve-ry day in the same tempers, and the same designs, 
and the same indulgences, as they did who knew not 
God, nor of any happiness in another life. Every body, 
that is capable of any reflection, must have observed, 
that this is generally the state even of devout people, 
whether men or women. You may see them different 
from other people so far as to times and places of pray¬ 
er, but generally like the rest of the world in all the other 
parts of their lives. That is, adding Christian devo¬ 
tion to an heathen life: I have the authority of our 
Blessed Saviour for this remark, where- he says, Take no 
thought^ saying v)hat shall •we eat^ or ivhat shall •we drink^ 
or •where‘withal shall •we be clothed ? .for after all these 
things do the gentUes seek. But if to be thus affected 
even with the necessary things of this life, shews that we 
are not yet of a Christian spirit, but are like the hea¬ 
thens ; surely to enjoy the vanity and folly of the world 
as they did, tb be like them in the main chief tempers of 
our lives, in self-love and indulgence, in sensual pleasures 
and diversions, in the vanity of dress, the love of shew 
and greatness, or any other gaudy distinction of fortune, 
is a much greater sign of an heathen temper. And 
consequently they who add devotion to such a life, must 
be said to pray as Christians, but live as heathens. 


CHAP. II. 


An enquiry into the Reason^ nvhy the generality q/* Chris¬ 
tians fall so far short of the holiness and Devotion of 
Christianity. 

IT may now be reasonably inquired, how it comes 
to pass, that the lives even of the better sort of people 
are t^us strangely contrary to the principles of Christian¬ 
ity- . . . 

But before I give a direct answer to this, I desire it 
may also be inquired, how it comes to pass that swearing 
is so common a vice amongst Christians; it is indeed 
not yet so common amongst women, as it is amongst 




DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 

men. But amongst men this sin is so common, that 
perhaps there are more than two in three that are trinity 
of It through the whole course of their lives, swearing 
more or less, just as it happens, some constantly, others 
only now and then, as it were by chance. Now I ask 
how comes it that two in tliree of tlie men are guilty of 
so gross and profane a sin as this ? There is neither ig- 
norance nor human infirmity to plead for it: It is against 
an express commandment, and the most plain doctrine 
of our blessed Saviour. 

Do but now find the reason why the generality of men 
hvc in this notorious vice, and then you will have found 
the reason why the generality even of the better sort of 
people live so contrary to Christianity. 

Now the reason of common swearing is this : It is be¬ 
cause men have not so much as the intention to please 
God m all their actions. For let a man but have so 
much piety as to intend to please God in all the actions 
ot his life, as the happiest and best thing in the world, 
and then he will never swear more. It will be as impos¬ 
sible for him to swear, whilst he feels this intention 
within himself, as it is impossible for a man that in¬ 
tends to please his prince, to go up and abuse him to his 
face. 

It seems but a small and necessary part of piety to 
have such a sincere intention as this; and that he has 
no reason to look upon himself as a disciple of Christ, 
who is not thus far advanced in piety. And yet it is 
purely for want of this degree of piety, that you see such 
a mixture of sin and folly in the lives even of the better 
sort of people. It is for want of this intention that you 
see men that profess religion, yet live in swearing and 
sensuality ; that you sec clergymen given to pride and 
covetousness, and worldly enjoyments. It is for want 
of this intention, that you see women that profess de¬ 
votion, yet living in all the folly and vanity of dress, 
wasting their time in idleness and pleasure, and in all 
such instances of state and equipage as their estates will 
reach. For let but a woman feel her heart full of/ thife 
intention, and she will find it as impossible to>patfch bt 
paint, as to curse or swear; she will no mof^ <0 

shine at balls and assemblies, or makd a^figariJ amoKgst 


A SERIOUS CALL TO A 


S8 

those that arc most finely dressed, than she will desire to 
dance upon a rope to please spectators : She will know' 
that the one is as far from the wisdom and excellency of 
the Christian spirit, as the other. 

It was this general attention that made the primitive 
Christians such eminent instances of piety, that made^ 
the goodly fellowship of the saints, and all the glorious 
army of martyrs and confessors. And if you will here 
stop and ask yourself why you are not as pious as the 
primitive Christians were, your own heart will tell you 
that it is neither through ignorance nor inability, but 
purely because you never thoroughly intended it. You 
observe the same Sunday-worship that they did ; and you 
are strict in it, because it is your full intention to be 
so. And when you as fully intend to be like them in 
their ordinary common life, when you intend to please 
God in all your actions, you will find it as possible as to 
be . strictly exact in the service of the church. And 
w’hen you have this intention to please God in all your 
actions, as the happiest and best thing in the world, you 
will find in you as great an aversion to every thing that 
is vain and impertinent in common life, whether of busi¬ 
ness or pleasure, as you now have to any thing that is 
profane. You will be as fearful of living in any fool¬ 
ish way, either of spending your time or your fortune, 
as you^are now fearful of neglecting the public wor- 
ship. 

Now who that wants this general sincere intention, 
can be reckoned a Christian ? And yet if it -was amongst 
Christians, it would change the whole face of the 
world ; true piety and exemplary holiness would be as 
common and visible as buying and selling, or any trade 
in life. 

Let a clergyman be but thus pious, and he will con¬ 
verse as if he had been brought up by an apostle ; he 
will no more think and talk of noble preferment, than of 
noble eating or a glorious chariot. He will no more 
complain of the frowns of the world, or a sm^ill cure, or 
the want of a patron, than he will complain of the want 
of a laced coal, or a running horse. Let him but intend 
to please God in all his actions, as the happiest and best 
thing in the world, and then he will know that there is 


DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 


G^' 

nothing noble in a clergyman, but burning aeal for the 
salvation of souls ; nor any thing poor in his profession, 
but idleness and a worldly spirit. 

Again, let a tradesman have this intention, and it will 
make him a saint in his shop ; his every day busincsB 
will be a course of wise and reasonable actions, made 
holy to God, by being done in obedience to his will and 
pleasure, lie will buy and sell, and labour and travel, 
because by so doing he can do some good to himself and 
others. But then, as nothing can please God but what 
is wise, and reasonable, and holy, so he will neither buy, 
nor sell, nor labour in any other manner, nor to any 
other end, but such as may be shewn to be wise and rea¬ 
sonable and holy. He will therefore consider not what 
arts, or methods, or application, will soonest make him 
richer and greater than his brethren, or remove him from 
a shop to a life of state and pleasure ; but he wdll consi¬ 
der w'hat arts, what methods, what application can make 
worldly business most acceptable to God, and make a 
life of trade a life of holiness, devotion, and piety. This 
wdll be the temper and spirit of every tradesman ; he 
cannot stop short of these degrees of piety, -whenever it 
is his intention to please God in all his actions, as the 
best and happiest thing in the world. 

And on the other hand, whoever is not of this spirit 
and temper in his trade and profession, and docs not car¬ 
ry it on only so far as is best subservient to a wise and 
holy and heavenly life ; it is certain that he has not this 
intention; and yet wdthout it, who can be shewm to be a 
follow'er of Jesus Christ ? 

Again, let the gentleman of birth and fortune but have 
this intention, and you will see how it will carry him from 
every appearance of evil, to every instance of piety and 
goodness. 

He cannot live by chance, or as humour and fancy 
carries him, because he knows that nothing can please 
God but a wise and regular course of life. He cannot 
live in idleness and indulgence, in sports and gaming, in 
pleasures and intemperance, in vain expenses and high 
living; because these things cannot be turned into means 
of piety and holiness, or made so many parts of a wise 
and religious life. 


40 


A SERIOUS CALL TO A 


As he thus removes from all appearance of evil, so he 
hastens and aspires after every instance of goodness. He 
does not ask what is allowable and pardonable, but what 
IS commendable and praise-^worthy. He does not ask 
whether God will forgive the folly of our lives, the 
madness of our pleasures, the vanity of our expenses, 
the richness of our equipage, and the careless consump*. 
tion oi our ume ; but he asks whether God is pleased 
with these things, or whether these are the appointed 
ways of gaining his favour. He does not inquire 
whether it be pardonable to hoard up money to adorn 
ourselves with diamonds, and gild our chariots, whilst the 
widow and the orphan, the sick and the prisoner want ta 
be relieved ; but he asks whether God has required these 
things at our hands, whether we shall be called to ac¬ 
count at the last day for the neglect of them, because 
it IS not his intent to live in such ways as, for aught we 
know, God may perhaps pardon; but to be diligent in 
ward infallibly re- 

He will not therefore look at tlie lives of Christians, 
to earn l-.ow he ought to spend his estate ; but he will 
look iiUQ the scriptures, and make every doctrine, para- 
ble,_ precept, or ii'.struaicn tliat relates to rich men, a law 
to Jiimselt in the use ol his estate. 

He v.ili have r.otiiing to do with costly apparel, be¬ 
cause ll.e I'.ci! man in tlie gospel was clotlicd with our- 
pie and fine l.nen He denies himself the pleasures and 
mdulger.ces which his estate could procure, because our 
Blessed Saviour saith, K o unto you that are rich, for ye 
■ have received your consolation. He will have but one 
rule for c.ianty, and that will be, to spend all that he can 

sXl quick and dead liath 

said, tiiat all is so given, is given to him. 

He will have no hospitable table for the rich and weal¬ 
thy to come and feast with him in good eating and 
dunking; because our blessed l,ord saith. When thou 
mak-cst a din7in\ call not thxj friends, 7ior thy brethren, nei¬ 
ther thy kinsmen, nor thy rich neighbours, lest they also bid 
thee again, and a recompense be made thee. But when thou 
7naktstajeast,call the poor,the i7iaimed,the la 7 ne, the blhid 
and thou Shalt be blessed. Bor (.hey eamotrceomhcnse thee 


DEVOUT AKD HOLY LIFE. 


41 


JOT thou shall he recom/iensed at the resurrection of the 
justy Luke xiv. 12, 13, 14. 

^ He will waste no money in gilded roofs or costly fur¬ 
niture : He will not be carried from pleasure to pleasure 
in expensive state and equipage, because an inspired 
Apostle hath said, that all that is in the world, the lust 
of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life, is 
not of the father, but is of the world. 

Let not any one look upon this as an imaginary descrip¬ 
tion of charity, that looks fine in the notion, but cannot 
be put in practice. For it is so far from being an ima¬ 
ginary impracticable form of life, that it has been prac¬ 
tised by great numbers of Christians in former ages, who 
W’ere glad to turn their whole estates into a constant 
course of charity. And it is so far from being impossible 
now, that if we can find any Christians, that sincerely 
intend to please God in all their actions as the best and 
happiest thing in the world, whether they be young or 
old, single or married, men or women, if they have but 
this intention, it will be impossible for them to do other¬ 
wise. This one principle will infallibly carry them to 
this height of charity, and they will find themselves una¬ 
ble lo stop sliort of it. 

For how is it possible for a man that intends to please 
God in the use of his money, and intends it because he 
judges it to be his greatest happiness, how is it possible 
for such a one in such a state of mind, to bury his money 
in needless impertinent finery, in covering himself or his 
horses with gold, whilst there are any works of piety and 
charity to be done with it, or any ways of spending it 
well ? 

This is as strictly impossible as for a man that intends 
to please God in his words, to go into company on pur¬ 
pose to swear and lie. For as all waste and unreasona¬ 
ble expense is done designedly and Avith deliberation, so 
no one can be guilty of it, whose constant intention is to 
please God in the use of his money. 

I have chose to explain this matter by appealing to 
this intention, because it makes the case so plain, and 
because every one that has a mind, may see it in the 
clearest light and feci it in the strongest manner, only 
by looking into his own heart. For it is as easy for 

D 2 


42 


A SERIOUS CALL TO A 


every person to know, whether he intends to please God 
in all his actions; as for any servant to know whether 
this be his intention towards his master. Every one also 
can as easily tell how he lays out his money, and whether 
he considers how to please God in it, as he can tell where 
his estate is, and whether it be in money or land. So 
that here is no plea left for ignorance or frailty, as to 
this matter, every body is in the light,, and every body 
has power. And no one can fall, but he that is not so 
much a Christian as to intend to please God in the use 
of his estate. 

You see two persons, one is regular in public and pri¬ 
vate prayer, the other is not. Now the reason of this 
difference is not this, that one has strength and power 
to observe prayer, and the other has not; but the rea¬ 
son is this, that one intends to please God in the duties 
of devotion, and the other has no intention about it.- 
Now the case is the same in the right or wrong use of 
our time and money. You see one person throwing 
awa^ his time in sleep and idleness, in visiting and di¬ 
versions, and his money in the most vain and unreasona- 
ble expenses. You see another careful of every day, 
dividing his hours by rules of reason and religion, and; 
spending all his money in works of charity; now the 
diiference is not owing to this, that one has strength and 
power to do thus, and the other has not; but it is ow¬ 
ing to this, that one intends to please God in the right 
use of ail his time and all his money, and the other has 
no intention about it. 

Here therefore let ue> judge ourselves sincerely, let us 
not vainly content ourselves with the common disorders: 
of our lives, the vanity of our expenses, the folly of our 
diversions, the pride of our habits, the idleness of our 
lives, and the wasting of our time, fancying that these 
are such imperfections as we fall into through the una¬ 
voidable weakness and frailty of our natures ; but let us- 
bc assured, that these disorders of our common life are 
owing to this, that we have not so much Christianity as 
to intend to please God in all the actions of our life, as. 
the best and happiest thing in the world. So that we 
must not look upon ourselves in a state of common and 
pardonable imperfection, but in such a state as wants the 


DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 


43 


first and^ most fundamental principle of Christianity, viz. 
an intention to please God in all our actions. 

And if any one was to ask himself, how it comes to 
pass that tlicre are any degrees of sobriety which he ne¬ 
glects, any practice of humility which he w’ants, any 
methods of charity which he does not follow, any rules 
of redeeming time which he does not observe, his own 
heart will tell him, that it is because he never intended 
to be so exact in those duties. For whenever we fully 
intend it, it is as possible to conform to all this regulari¬ 
ty of life, as it is possible for a man to observe times of 
prayer. 

So that the fault does no lie here, that we desire to be 
good and perfect; but through the weakness of our nature 
fall short of it; but it is because we have not piety enough 
to intend to be as good as we can, or to please God in 
all the actions of our life. This we see is plainly the 
case of him that spends his time in sports, when he 
should be at church ; it is not his want of power, but his 
want of intention or desire to be there. 

And the case is plainly the same in every other folly 
of human life. She that spends her time and money 
in the unreasonable w'ays and fasliions of th.e world, does 
not do so, because she wants power to be wise and re¬ 
ligious in the management of her time and nioney : but 
because she has no intention or desire of being so. When 
she feels this intention, she will find it as possible to act 
up to it, as to be strictly sober and chaste, because it is 
her care and desire to be so. 

This doctrine does not suppose tliat we have no need 
of divine grace, or that it is our own powxr to make our¬ 
selves perfect. It only supposes that through the want 
of a sincere intention of pleasing God in all our ac¬ 
tions, w'c fall into such irregularities of life, as by the 
ordinary means of grace we should have pow’er to 
avoid. 

And that we have not that perfection, which our pre¬ 
sent state of grace makes us capable of, because w’e do 
not so much as intend to have it. 

It only teaches us that the reason w’hy you see no real 
mortification or self-denial, no eminent charity, no pro¬ 
found humility, no heavenly affection, no true contempt 


44 


A SEUIOUS CALL TO A 


of the worlds no Christian meekness, no sincere zeal, no 
eminent piety in the common lives of Christians ; is this, 
because they do not so much as intend to be exact and 
exemplary in these virtues. 


CHAP. IIL 

0/ the great danger and folly of not intending to be as 
eminent and exemplary as we cam , in the practice of all 
Christian virtueSi 

although the goodness of God, and his rich 
ttiercies in Christ Jesus are a sufficient assurance to 
Us, that he will be merciful to our unavoidable weak¬ 
nesses and infirmities, that is, to such failings as are 
the effects of ignorance or surprise ; yet we have no 
reason to expect the same mercy towards those sins which 
we have lived in, through a want of intention to avoid 
them. 

For instance, the case of a common swearer, who dies 
In that guilt, seems to have no title to the divine mercy; 
for this reason, because he can no more plead any weak¬ 
ness or infirmity in his excuse, than the man that hid 
his talent in the earth, could plead his want of strength 
to keep it out of the earth. 

But now, if this be right reasoning, the case of a com- 
inon swearer, that his sin is not to be reckoned a pardon¬ 
able frailty, because he has no weakness to plead in its 
excuse; why then do we not carry this way of reasoning 
to Us true extent ? Why don’t we as much condemn every 
one other error of life that has no more weakness to plead 
in its excuse than common swearing. 

For if this be so bad a thing, because it might be 
avoided, if we did but sincerely intend it, must not then 
all other erroneous ways of life be very guilty, if we live 
in them, not through weakness and inability, but because 
we never sincerely intended to avoid them ? 

For instance, you perhaps have made no progress in 
the most important Christian virtues, you have scarce 


DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 


45 


gone half way in humility and charity ; now if your 
failure in these duties is purely owing to your want of 
intention of performing them in any true degree, have 
you not then as little to plead for yourself, and are 
you not as much without all excuse as the common 
swearer ? 

Why, therefore, don’t you press these things home 
upon your conscience ? Why do you not think it as dan¬ 
gerous for you to live in such defects as are in your 
power to amend, as it is dangerous fora common swear¬ 
er to live in the breach of that duty, which it is in his 
power to observe ? Is not negligence and a want of a 
sincere intention as blameable in one case as in another ? 

You, it may be, are as far from Christian perfection, 
as the common swearer is from keeping the tliird com¬ 
mandment ; are you not therefore as much condemned 
by the doctrines of the gospel, as the swearer is by the 
third commandment ? 

You perhaps will say, that all people fall short of the 
perfection of the gospel, and therefore you are content 
with your failings. But this is saying nothing to the 
purpose. For the question is not whether gospel per¬ 
fection can be fully attained; but whether you come as 
near it as a sincere intention, and careful diligence can 
carry you. Whether you are not in a much low’er state 
than you might be, if you sincerely intended and care¬ 
fully laboured to advance yourself in all Christian vir¬ 
tues. 

If you arc as forward in the Christian life as your best 
endeavours can make you, then you may justly hope 
that your imperfections will not be laid to your charge ; 
but if your defects in piety, humility, and charity, are 
owing to your negligence and want of sincere attention 
to be as eminent as, you can in these virtues, then you 
k.'ave yourself as much without excuse as he that lives 
in the sin of swearing, through the want of a sincere in*? 
tention to depart from it. 

The salvation of our souls is set forth in scripture as 
a thing of difficulty, that requires all our diligence, that 
is to be worked out with fear and trembling. 

We are told that strait is the gate and narrow is the 
way that leadeth unto life^ and few (here be that Jind »(. 


A SERIOUS CALL TO A 


4'(i 

That many, are called but fenv are chosen. And that 
many will miss of their saivalion, who seem to have taken 
some pains to obtain it. As in these words, Strive to 
cntei in at the strait ^ate^fo^ many^ I say unto you^ ‘will 
seek to enter in., and shall not be able. 

Here our blessed Lord commands us to strive to enter 
in ; because many will fail, who only seek to enter. By 
^vhich we are plainly taught, that 'religion is a state of 
labour and striving, and that many will fail of their 
salvation ; not because they took no care or pains about 
it, but because they did not take pains and care enough j 
they only sought, but did not strive to enter in. 

Every Christian, therefore, should as well examine his 
life by these doctrines, as by the commandments. For 
these doctrines are as plain marks of our condition, as 
the coinmandments are plain marks of our duty. 

For if salvation is only given to those who strive for 
it, then it is as reasonable for me to consider whether 
my course of life be a course of striving to obtain it, as 
to consider whether I am keeping any of the command¬ 
ments. 

It my religion is only a formal compliance with those 
modes of worship that are in fashion where I live ; if it 
costs me no pains or trouble, if it lays me under no rules 
and restraints, if I have no careful thoughts and sober 
reflections about it, is it not great weakness to think that 
I am striving to enter in at the strait gate. 

If 1 am seeking every thing that can delight my senses 
and regale my appetite ; spending my time and fortune 
in pleasures, in diversions, and worldly enjoyments, a 
stranger to watchings, fastings, prayers, and mortifica¬ 
tions, how can it be said that I am workbig out my saT 
vation with fear and trembling ? 

If there is nothing in my life and conversation that 
shew me to be different from the jews and heathens'* 
if I use the world, and worldlv enjoyments, as the gene¬ 
rality of people now do, and in all ages have donef whv- 
should I think that I am amongst those few, who are 
walking in the narrow way to heaven ? 

And yet if the way k narrow, if none can walk in it 
but those that strive, is it not as necessary for me to 
consider whether the way I am in be narrow enough ; 


47 


DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 

or the labour I take be a sufficient striving, as to consider 
whether I sufficiently observe the second or third com¬ 
mandment ? 

The sum of this matter is this : From the above-men¬ 
tioned, and many other passages of scripture, it seems 
plain that our salvation depends upon the sincerity and 
perfection of our endeavours to obtain it. 

Weak and imperfect men shall, notwithstanding their 
frailties and defects, be received, as having pleased God, 
if they have done their utmost to please him. 

^ The rewards of charity, piety, and humility, will be 
given to those whose lives have been a careful labour 
to exercise these virtues in as high a degree as they 
could. 

We cannot offer to God the service of angels; avc 
cannot obey him as man in a state of perfection could; 
but fallen men can do their best, and this is the perfec¬ 
tion that is required of us; it is only the perfection of 
our best endeavours, a careful labour to be as perfect 
as wc can. 

But if we stop short of this, for aught we know, wc 
stop short of the mercy of God, and leave ourselves 
nothing to plead from the terms of the gospel. For 
God has there made no promises of mercy to the sloth¬ 
ful and negligent. His mercy is only offered to our frail 
and imperfect, but best endeavours to practise all man¬ 
ner of righteousness. 

As the law to angels is angelical righteousness, as the 
law to perfect beings is strict perfection, so the law to 
our imperfect natures is the best obedience that our frail 
nature is able to perform. 

The measure of our love to God seems in justice to 
be the measure of our love of every virtue. Wc are to 
love and practise it with all our heart, with all our soul, 
with all our mind, and with all our strength. And when 
we cease to live with tnis regard to virtue, we live below 
our nature, and instead of being able to plead our infir¬ 
mities, we stand chargeable with negligence. 

It is for this reason that we are exhorted to work out 
our salvation with fear and trembling; because unless 
our heart and passions are eagerly bent upon the work 
of our salvation; unless holy fears animate our endea’- 


43 


A SERIOUS CALL TO A 


vours, and keep our consciences strict and tender about 
every part of our duty, constantly examining how we 
live, and how fit we are to die; we shall in all probabi¬ 
lity fall into a state of negligence, and sit down in such 
a course of life as will never carry us to the rewards of 
heaven. 

And he that considers that a just God can only make 
such allowances as are suitable to his justice, that our 
works are all to be examined by fire, will find that fear 
and trembling are proper tempers for those that are 
drawing near so great a trial. 

And indeed there is no probability that any one should 
do all the duty that is expected from him, or make that 
progress in piety which the holiness and justice of God 
requires of him ; but he that is constantly afraid of falling 
short of it. 

Now this is not intended to possess people’s minds 
with a scrupulous anxiety, and discontent in the service 
of God, but to fill them with a just fear of living in sloth 
and idleness, and in the neglect of such virtues as they 
will want at the day of judgment. 

It is to excite them to an earnest examination of their 
lives, to such zeal, and care, and concern after Christian 
perfection, as they use in any matter that has gained their 
heart and affections. 

It is only desiring them to be so apprehensive of their 
state, so humble in the opinion of themselves, so earnest 
after higher degrees of piety, and so fearful of falling 
short of happiness, as the great apostle St. Paul was\ 
when he thus wrote to the Philippians. 

« Not as though I had already attained, either were al¬ 
ready perfect—but this one thing I do, forgetting those 
things which are behind, and reaching forth unto those 
things which are before ; I press toward the mark for 
the prize of tho high calling of God in Christ Jesus.” 
And then he adds, “ let us therefore, as many as are per¬ 
fect, be thus minded.” ^ 

But now, if the apostle thought it necessary for those, 
who were in his state of perfection, to be thus minded; 
that is, thus labouring, pressing and aspiring after some 
degrees of holiness, to which they were not then arrived ; 
surely it is much more necessary for us, who are born 


DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 




in the dregs of time, and labouring under great imperfec¬ 
tions, to be thus minded; that is, thus earnest and striv- 
ing after such degrees of a holy and divine life, as we 
have not yet attained. 

The best way for any one to knov; how much he 
ought to aspire after holiness, is to consider not how 
much will make his present life easjs but to ask him* 
self how much he thinks will make him easy at the hour 
of death. 

Now any man that dares be serious as to put this ques¬ 
tion to himself will be forced to answer that at death eve¬ 
ry one wull wish that he had been as perfebt as human 
nature can be. / 

Is not this therefore sufficient to put us riot only upon 
wishing, but labouring after all that perfection which we 
shall then lament the want of? Is it not excessive folly 
to be content with such a course of piety w’hen we shall 
so want it, as to have nothing else to comfort us. How 
can we carry a severer condemnation against ourselves, 
than to believe that at the hour of death w^e shall want 
the virtues of the saints, and wish that we had been 
amongst the first servants of God, and yet take no 
methods of arriving at their height of piety, whilst we 
are alive ? 

Though this is an absurdity that we can easily pass 
over at present, whilst the health of our bodies, the pas¬ 
sions of our minds, the noise, and hurry, and pleasures, 
and business of the W'orld, lead us on with eyes that see 
not, and ears that hear not; yet at death, it will set itself 
before us in a dreadful magnitude, it will haunt us like a 
dismal ghost, and our conscience will never let us lake 
our eyes from it. 

We see in wordly matters, what a torment self-con 
dcmnation is ; and how hardly a man is able to forgive 
himself, when he has brought himself into any calamity or 
disgrace, purely by his own folly. The affiiction is made 
doubly tormenting; because he is forced to charge it 
ail upon himself, as his own act and deed, against the 
nature and reason of things, and contrary to the adfice of 
all his friends. 

Now by this we may in some degree guess how ter¬ 
rible the pain of that self-condemnatian will be, when 

E 




A SERIOUS CALL TO A 


a man shall find himself in thQ miseries of death, under 
the severity of a self-condemning conscience ; charging 
all his distress upon his own folly and madness, against 
the sense and reason of his own mind, against all the 
doctrines and precepts of religion, and contrary to .all 
the instructions, calls and warnings both of God and 
man. 

Feiritens was a busy notable tradesman, and very pros¬ 
perous in his dealings; but died in the thirty-fifth year 
of his age. 

^ A little before his death, when the doctors had given 
him over, some of his neighbours came one evening to 
see him ; at which time he spake thus to them : 

“ I see, says he, my friends, the tender concern you 
have for me, by the grief that appears in your counte¬ 
nances,^ and I know the thoughts that you now have about 
me. You think how melancholy a case it is to see so 
young a man, and in such flourishing business, deli¬ 
vered up to death. And perhaps, had I visited any of 
you in my condition, I should have had the same thoughts 
of you. 

But now, my friends, my thoughts are no more like 
your thoughts, than my condition is like yours. 

It is no trouble to me now to think that I am to die 
young, or before I have raised an estate. 

These things are now sunk into such mere nothingsy 
that I have no name little enough to call them by. For 
if in a few^ days, or hours, I am to leave this carcass to 
be buried in the earth, and to find myself either for ever 
happy in the favour of God, or eternally separated from 
all light and peace, can any words sufficiently express 
the littleness of every thing else ? 

Is there any dream like the dream of life, which 
amuses us with the neglect and disregard of these things ? 
Is there any folly like the folly of our manly state, which 
is too wise and busy to be at leisure for these reflec¬ 
tions ? ' 

When we consider death as a misery, we only think 
of it as a miserable sepaialion from tlie enjoyments of 
this life. ^Ye seldom mourn over an old man that dies 
rich ; but we lament the young, that are taken away in 
the progress of their fortune. You yourselves look upon 


DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE 


ol 

i 

me with pity? not that I am going unprepnred to meet 
the judge of quick and dead • but that I am to leave a 
prosperous trade in the flower of my life. 

This is the wisdom of our manly thoughts. And yet 
what folly of the silliest children is so great as this ? 

For what is there miserable or dreadful in death, but 
the consequences of it? When a man is dead, what 
does any thing signify to him, but the state he is then 
in ? 

Our poor friend Lcfiidus died, you know, as he was 
dressing himself for a least ; do you think it is now part 
of his trouble that he did not live till that entertainment 
was over ? Feasts, and business, and pleasures, and en- 
joyrnents, seem great things to us, whilst we think of 
nothing else ; but as soon as we add death to them, they 
all sink into an equal littleness; and the soul that is se¬ 
parated from the body, no more laments the loss of busi¬ 
ness than the losing of a feast. 

If I am going into the joys of God, could there be 
any reason to grieve, that this happened to me before I 
was forty years of age ? Could it be a sad thing to go 
to heaven before I had made a few more bargains, or 
stood a little longer behind a counter ? 

And if I am to go amongst lost spirits, could there be 
any reason to be content, that this did not happen to me 
till I was old and full of riches ? 

If good angels w’ere ready to receive my soul, could it 
be any grief to me that I was dying upon a poor bed in 
a garret ? 

And if God has delivered me up to evil spirits, to be 
dragged by them to places of torments, could it be any 
comfort to me, that they found me upon a bed of state ? 

When you are as near death as I am, you will know 
that all the different states of life, whether of youth or 
age, riches or poverty, greatness or meanness signify no 
more to you, than whether you die in a poor or stately 
apartment ? 

The greatness of those things which follow death, 
makes all that goes before it sink into nothing. 

Now that judgment is the next thing that I look for, 
and everlasting happiness or misery is come so near 
me, all the enjoyments and prosperities of life seem 


A SERIOUS CALL TO A 


5;2- 

as vain and insignificant, and to have no more to do with 
rny happiness, than the clothes that I wore before I could 
speak. 

But, my friends, how am I surprised that I have not 
always had these thoughts ? for what is tlicre in tlie ter¬ 
rors of death, in the vanities of life, or the necessities of 
piety,d3ut what I might have as easily and fully seen in 
any part o! my life ? ^ 

What a strange thing is it, that a little health, or the 
poor business of a shop, should keep us so senseless of 
inese great things that are coming so fast upon us ! 

Just as you came into my chamber, I was thinking 
\vith myself, what numbers of souls there are now in 
the world, m my condition at this very time, suriirised 
with a summons to the other world: some taken from 
their shops and farms, others from their sports and plea¬ 
sures, these at suits of law, those at gaming tables, some 
on the road, others at their own fire-sides, and all seized 
at an hour when they thought nothing of it: frighted at 
the^ approach of death, confounded at the vanity of all 
their labours, designs, and projects, astonished at the 
fohy o their past lives, and not knowing which way to 
turn their thoughts, to find any comfort. Their con¬ 
sciences fiying m their faces, bringing all their sins to 
their remembrance, tormenting them with deepest con- 
\iCtions oi tlicir own folly, presenting them with the sin-ht 
ortne angry judge, the worm that never dies, the fire 
tnat IS never cpienched, the gates of hell, the powers of 
aarkness, and the bitter pains of eternal death. 

Oh my friends ! bless God that you arc not of this 
number, tnat you have time and strength to employ vour- 

Uie'lTs^^ ^ of piety as ma/bring j ou peace at 

And take this along with you, that there is nothing but 
a Lte of great piety, or a death of great stypiditv, that 
can keep ofi these apprehensions. ’ 

If ad I now a thousand worlds, I would give them all 
xor one year more, that I might present unto God one 
year of such devotion and good works, as I never before 
so much as intended. 

You perhaps, when you consider that I have lived free 
from scandal and debauchery, and in the communion of 


D'&VOtiT AND HOLY LIFE. 


53 


the church, wonder to see me so full of remorse and self- 
condemnation at the approach of death. 

But alas 1 "what a poor thincj is it, to have lived only 
free from murder, theft and adultery, which is all that I 
can say of myself. 

You know indeed, that I have never been reckoned a 
sot, but you are at the same time witnesses, and have 
been frequent companioiis of my intemperance, sensuali¬ 
ty, and great indulgence. 

And if I am now going to a judgment, where nothing 
will be rewarded but good works, I may well be concern¬ 
ed, that though 1 am no sot, yet I have no Christian so¬ 
briety to plead for me. 

It is true, 1 have lived in the communion of the church, 
and generally frequented its worship and service on Sun¬ 
days, when I was neither too idle, or not otherwise dis¬ 
posed of by my business and pleasures. But then, mv 
conformity to the public worship has been rather a thing 
of course, than any real intention of doing that, which the 
service of the church supposes ; had it not been so, I 
had been often at church, more devout when there, and 
more fearful of ever neglecting it. 

But the thing that now surprises me above all won¬ 
ders. is this, that I never had so much as a general in¬ 
tention of living up to the piety of the gospel. This 
never so much as entered into my head or my heart. I 
never once in my life considered whether 1 was living 
as the laws of religion direct, or whether my way of life 
was such as would procure me the mercy of God at this 
hour. 

And can it be thought that I have kept the gospel 
terms of salvation, Avithout ever so much as intending 
in any serious and deliberate manner cither to know them 
or keep thein I Can it be thought that I liave pleased 
God with such a life as he requires, though I have lived 
witliout ever considering what he requires, or how much 
I have performed ? how easy a thing would salvation be, 
if it could fail into my careless hands, who have never 
had so much serious tf ougiits about it, as about any one 
common bargain that I Jiave made ? 

In the business of iife 1 have used prudence and re¬ 
flection, I have done every thing by rules and metliods. 

E 2 


54 


A SERiauS CALL TO A 


^ have been glad ta converse with men of experience 
and judgment, to find out the reasons why some fail and 
Gtliers succeed in any business, I have taken no step 
in trade but with great care and caution, considering' 
every advantage or danger that attended it. I have al¬ 
ways had my eye upon the main end of business, and 
have studied all the Avays and means of being a gainer by 
all that I undertook. 

But what is the reason that I have brought none of 
these tempers to religion ? What is the reason that I, 
Avho have so often talked of the necessity of rules and 
methods, and diligence in worldly business, have all this 
Avhile never once thought of any rules, or methods, or 
managements, to carry me on in a life of piety I 

Do you think any thing can astonish and confound ?v 
dying man like this? What pain do you think a man 
must feel, when his conscience lays all this folly to his 
charge, when it shall shew him how regular, exact, and 
Avise he has been in small matters, that are passed aAvay 
like a drearch, and how stupid and senseless he has lived, 
Avithout any reflection, without any rules, in things of 
such eternal moment, as no heart can sufficiently con¬ 
ceive them! 

Had I only m.y frailties and imperfections to lament 
at this time, I should lie here humbly trusting in the 
mercies of God. But alas 1, hoAv can I call a general 
disregard, and a thorough neglect of all religious im¬ 
provement, a frailty and imperfection; Avhen it Avas as 
inuch in my poAver to have been exact, and careful, and 
diligent in a course of piety, as in the business of mv 
trade. 

I could have called in as many helps, have practised 
as many rules, and been taught as many certain methods 
of holy living, as of thriving in my shop, had I but so in¬ 
tended and desired it.. 

Oh ! my friends ! ^ a careless life, unconcerned and 
unattentive to the duties of religion, is so without all ex¬ 
cuse so unworthy of the mercy of God, such a shame 
to the sense and reason of our minds, that I can hardly 
conceive a greater punishment, than for a man to be 
throAvn into the state that I am in, to reflect upon it.” 

Penitens Avas here going on, but had. his mouth stop- 


DEVOUT AND flOLY LIFE. 


55 


pcd by a convulsion, which never suffered him to speak 
any more. He lay convulsed about twelve hours, and 
then gave up the ghost. 

Now if every reader would imagine this Penitens to 
have been some particular acquaintance or relation of 
his, and fancy that he saw and heard all that is here de¬ 
scribed, that he stood by his bed-side when his poor 
friend lay in such distress and agony, lamenting the folly 
of his past life, it would in all probability teach him such 
wisdom as never entered into his heart before. If to this 
he should consider, how often he himself might have 
been surprised in the same state of negligence, and made 
an example to the rest of the world, this double reflec¬ 
tion, both upon the distress of his friend, and the good¬ 
ness of that God, who had preserved him from it, would 
in all likelihood soften his heart into holy tenqvcrs, and 
make him turn the remainder of his life into a regular 
course of piety. 

This therefore being so useful a meditation, I shall 
here leave the reader, as, I hope, seriously engaged in it. 


CHAP. IV. 

JVe can filease God in no state or emfxloyment of lifc^ but 
by intending a/it/ devoting it all to his honour and glory. 

HAVING in the first chapter stated the general 
nature of devotion, and shewn, that it implies not any 
form of prayer, but a certain form of life that is offer¬ 
ed to God not at any particular times or places, but 
every where and in every thing ; I shall now descend to 
some particulars, and shew how we arc to devote our 
labour and employment, our time and fortunes unto 
God. 

As a good Christian should consider every place as 
holy, because God is there : so he should look upon every 
part of his life as a matter of holiness, because it is to be 
offered unto God. 

The profession of a clergyman is a holy profession. 


55 


A SERIOUS CALL TO A 


because it is a ministration in holy things, an attendance 
at the altar. But worldly business is to be made holy 
unto the Lord, by being done as a service to him, and in 
conformity to his divine will. 

For as all men and all things in the world, as truly be¬ 
long unto God, as any places, things, or persons that are 
devoted to divine service; so all things are to be used, 
and all persons are to act in their several states and em¬ 
ployments for the glory of God. 

Men of worldly business therefore must not look upon 
themselves as at liberty to live to themselves, to sacrifice 
to their own humours and tempers, because their em¬ 
ployment is of a worldly nature. But they must consider^ 
that as the world and all worldly professions, as truly be¬ 
long to God, as persons and things that are devoted to 
the altar; so it is as much the duty of men in worldly- 
business to live wholly unto God, as it is the duty of 
those who are devoted to divine service. 

As the whole world is God’s, so the whole world is to 
act for God. As all men have the same relation to God, 
as all men have all their powers and faculties from God ; 
so all men are obliged to act for God with all their pow¬ 
ers and faculties. ^ 

As all things are God’s, so ail things are to be used 
and regarded as the things of God. 'For men to abuse 
things on earth, and live to themselves, is the same re¬ 
bellion against God, as for angels to abuse things in hea¬ 
ven ; because God is just the same Lord of all on earth 
as he is the Lord of ail in heaven. 

Tilings may, and must differ in their use, but yet they 
arc all to be used according to the will of God. 

Aien may, and must differ in their employment, but 
yet they nmst all act for the same ends, as dutiful ser¬ 
vants of God, in the right and pious performance of their 
several callings. 

Clergymen must live wholly unto God in one particu¬ 
lar way, that is, in the exercise of holy offices, in the 
ministration of prayers and sacraments, and a zealous dis¬ 
tribution ol spiritual goods. 

But men ot other employments are in their particular 
ways as much obliged to act as the servants of God, and 
live wholly unto him in their several callings. 


DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 


57 


This is the only difference between clergymen, and 
people of other callings. 

When it can be shewn that men might be vain, covet¬ 
ous, sensual, worldly-minded, or proud in the exercise 
of their worldly business, then it will be allow’able for 
clergymen to indulge th.c same tempers in their sacred 
profession. For though these tempers are most odious 
and most criminal in clergymen, who, besides their bap¬ 
tismal vow, have a second time devoted themselves to 
God, to be his servants, not in the common offices of 
human life, but in the spiritual service of the most holy 
sacred things : and who are therefore to keep themselves 
as separate and differ from the common life of other 
men, as a church or an altar is to be kept separate from 
houses and tables of common use: Yet as all Christians 
arc by their baptism devoted to Go 1, and made pioles- 
sors of holiness, so are they all in their several callings 
to live as holy and heavenly persons; doing every thing 
in their common life only in such a manner, as it may be 
received by God, as a service done to him. For tnings 
spiritual and temporal, sacred aiitl common, must, like 
men and angels, like heaven and earth, all conspire in the 
glory of God. 

As there is but one God and Father of us all, whose 
glory gives light and life to every thing that lives ; whose 
presence fills all places, whose power supports aii beings, 
whose providence ruleth all eveists ; so every thing that 
lives, whether in heaven or earth, whether they be 
thrones or principalities, men or angels, they must all 
with one spirit, live wholly to the praise and glory of 
this one God and Father of them all. Angels as angels 
in their heavenly ministrations, but men as men, women 
as women, bishops as bishops, priests as priests, and dea¬ 
cons, as deacons ; some with things spiritual, and some 
with things temporal, offering to God the daily sacrifice 
of a reasonable life, wise actions, purity of heart, and hea¬ 
venly affections. 

This is the common business of all persons in this 
world. It is not left to any women in the world to tiifle 
away their time in the follies and impertinences of a 
fashionable life, nor to any men to resign themselves up 
fo worldly cares and concerns; it is not left to the rich 


58 


A SEKIOTJS CALL TO A 


to gratify the passions in the indulgences and pride oi 
life ; nor to-the poor to vex and torment their hearts 
^ylth the poverty of their state ; but men and women^ 
rich and poor, must with bishops and priests, walk be- 
mre God in the same wise and noly spirit, in the same 
denial of all vain tempers, and in the same discipline 
and care of their souls ; not only because they have all 
Uie same rational nature, and are servants of the same 
Cxod, but because they all want the same holiness to make 
them lit for the same happiness, to which they are called. 
It IS therefore absolutely necessary for all Christians, 
wnether men or women, to consider themselves as per¬ 
sons that are devoted to holiness; and so order their 
common ways of life by such rules of reason and piety, 
^ may turn it into continual service unto Almighty 


Now to make our labour or employment an accepta- 
le service unto God, we must carry it on with the same 
spirit and temper, that is required in giving of alms, or 
any work of piety. For, if whether we 
1 Lor. X. 31 . eat or drink, or whatsoever we do, we must 
^ do all to the glory of God ; If we are to 

nse this world as if we used it not j if we are to present 

^ our bodies a living sacrifice, holy, acceiitable 

Rom. xii. 7 to God ; if we are to live by faith and not 
j i. ^ud to have our conversation in 

leavcn , ihew it is necessary, that the common way of 
our lite in every state, be made to glorify God by such 
tempers as make our prayers and adorations acceptable 
to him. Por, if we are worldly or earthly-minded in 
our employments, if they are carried on with vain de¬ 
sires, and covetous tempers, only to satisfy ourselves, wc 
can no more be said to live to the glory of God, than 
gluttons and drunkards can be said to eat and drink to 
the glory of God. 

As the glory of God is one and the same thino*. so 
whatever we do suitable to it, must be done with one 
and the same spirit. That same state and temper of 
mind which makes our alms and devotions acceptable, 
must also make our labour, or employment, a proper of- 
feiing unto God. If a man labours to be rich, and pur¬ 
sues his business, that he may raise himself to a state of 


DEVOUT AXD HOLY LJPE. 59 

figure and glory in the world, he is no longer serving 
(-•ocl m )1S employment; he is acting under other tnas- 
ters and has no more title to a reward from God, than 
he that gives alms, that he may be seen, or prays that 

■u e earthly desites 

aje no more allowable m our employments, than in our 

alms and devotions. For these tempers of worldly 
pride and vain glory, are not only evil, wlien they mix 
with our good works, but they have the same evil na¬ 
ture, and make us odious to God, when they enter into 
the common business of our emplcyment. If it were 
allowable to indulge covetous or vain passions in our 
worldly employments, it would then be allowable to be 
vain-glonous in our devotions. But as our aims and de¬ 
votions are not an acceptable service, but when they 
proceed from a heart truly devoted to God, so our com'- 
inon employment cannot be reckoned a service to him, 
but when it is performed with the same temper and ni- 
ety of heart. * 

Most of the employments of life are in their own na¬ 
ture lawful; and all those that are so, mav be mauc a 
substantial part of our duty to God, if we engage in them 
only so far, and for such ends, as are suitable to beings, 
that are to live above the world, all the time that 
they live in the world. This is the only measure of our 
appheauon to any worldly business, let it be what it will, 
where it will, it^ must have no more of our lianas, our 
hearts, or our time, than is consistent with an hearty, 
daily careful preparation of ourselves for anotner life. 
For as all Christians, as such, have renounced this world, 
to prepare themselves by daily devotion and Uijversal 
holiness, foi an eternal state of cjuite anoti'icr nature, 
they must look upon worldly empioymei.is, as upon 
worldly wants and bodily infirmities; thugs not u, be 
desired, but only to be endured ana sulTe: eo, till death 
and the resurrection has carried us to an eternal state of 
real happiness. 

Now he that does not look at the things of this life 
in this degree of littleness, cannot be Sc id either to feel 
or believe the greatest truths of chi istianity. For il he 
thinks any thing great or important in human business, 
can he be said, to feel or believe those scriptures which 


60 


A SERIOUS CALL TO A 


represent this life, and the greatest things of life, as bub¬ 
bles, vapours, dreams, and shadows ? 

If he thinks figure, and shew, and worldly glory, to 
be any proper happiness of a Christian, how can he be 
said to f^eei or believe this doctrine. Blessed are ye when 
men shall hate you^ and when they shall sefiarate you 
from their comfiany^ and shall reproach you^ and cast out 
your name as evil for the son of man^s sake ? For surely, 
if there was any real happiness in figure, and shew, and 
worldly glory ; if these things deserved our thoughts 
and care, it could not be matter of the highest joy, when 
we are torn from them by persecutions and sufferings ? 
If therefore, a man will so live, as to shew, that he feels 
and believes the most fundamental doctrines of Christiani¬ 
ty, he must live above the world ; this is the temper 
that must enable him to do the business of life, and yet 
live wholly unto God, and to go through some worldly 
employment with a heavenly mind. And it is as neces¬ 
sary, that people live in their employments with this 
temper, as it is necessary, that their employment itself 
be lawful. 

The husbandman that tilleth the ground is employed 
in an honest business, that is necessary in life, and very 
capable of being made an acceptable service unto God. 
But if he labours and toils, not to serve any reasonable 
ends of life, but in order to have his plough made of sil¬ 
ver, and to have his horses harnessed in gold, the honesty 
of his employment is lost as to him, and his labour be¬ 
comes his folly. 

A tradesman may justly think that it is agreeable to 
the will of God, for him to sell such things as are inno¬ 
cent and useful in life; such as help both himself and 
others to a reasonable support, and enable them to assist 
those that want to be assisted. But if instead of this, he 
trades only with regard to himself, without any other 
rule than that of his own temper, if it be his chief end 
in it to grow rich, that he may live in figure and indul- 
gencies, and be able to retire from business to idleness 
and luxury, his trade, as to him, loses all its innocency, 
and is so far from being an acceptable service to God, 
that it is only a more plausible course of covetous¬ 
ness, self-love, and ambition.. For such a one turns the 


liEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 


61 


necessities of employments into pride and covetousness, 
just as the sot and epicure turn the necessities of eating- 
and drinking into gluttony and drunkenness. Now he 
that is up early and late, that sweats and labours for these 
ends, that he may be some time or other rich, and live 
in pleasure and indulgence, lives no more to tne glory of 
God, than he that plays and games for the same ends. 
For though there is a great difference between trading 
and gaming, yet most of that difference is lost when 
men once trade with the same desires and tempers, and 
for the same ends that others game. Charity and fine 
dressing are things very different; but if men give alms 
for the same reasons that others dress fine, only to be 
seen and admired, charity is then but like the vanity 
of fine clothes. In like manner, if the same motives 
make some people painful and industrious in their trades, 
which makes others constant at gaming, such pains is 
but like the pains of gaming. 

Calidus has traded above thirty years in the greatest 
city of the kingdom; he has been so many years con¬ 
stantly increasing his trade and his fortune. Every hour 
of the day is with him an hour of business ; and though 
he eats and drinks very heartily, yet every meal seems 
to be in a hurry, and he would say grace if he had time. 
Calidus ends every day at the tavern, but has not leisure 
to be there till near nine o^ciock. He is always forced 
to drink a good hearty glass, to drive thoughts of busi¬ 
ness out of his head, and make his spirits drowsy enough 
for sleep. He does business all the time that he is ris¬ 
ing, and has settled several matters before he can get 
to his compting-room. His prayers are a short ejacu¬ 
lation or two, which he never misses in stormy tempes¬ 
tuous weather, because he has always something or oth¬ 
er at sea. Calidus will tell you with great pleasure, that 
he has been in this hurry for so many years, and that it 
must have killed him long ago, but that it has been a 
rule with him, to get out of the town every Saturday, 
and make the Sunday a day of quiet and good refresh¬ 
ment in the country. 

He is now so rich, that he would leave off his business, 
and amuse his old age with building and furnishing a 
fine house in the country, but that he is afraid he should 

F 


62 


A SERIOUS CALL TO A 


grow melancholy if he was to quit his business. He 
will tell you, with great gravity, that it is a dangerous 
thing for a man, that has been used to g'ct money, ever 
to leave it off. If thoughts of religion happen at any 
time to steal into his head, Calidus contents himself with 
thinking that he never was a friend to heretics and in¬ 
fidels, that he has always been civil to the minister of 
his parish, and very often given something to the chari¬ 
ty-schools. 


Now this way of life is at such a distance from all the 
doctrine and discipline of Christianity, that no one can 
live in it through ignorance or frailty. Calidus can no 
more imagine, that he is dorn again of 
St.John iii. the spirit ; that he is in Christ a new 
1 Pet. 11 . 11 . creature: that he lives here as a stranger 
Coloss. iii. 1. and pilgrim, setting his affections upon 
things above, and laying up treasures in 
heaven. He can no more imagine this, than he can 
think that he has been all his life an apostle, working 
miracles and preaching the gospel. ^ 

It must also be owned that the generality of trading 
people, especially in great towns, are too much like 
Calidus. You see them all the week buried in busi¬ 
ness, unable to think of any thing else ; and then spend- 
mg the Sunday in idleness and refreshment, in wander¬ 
ing into the country, in such visits and jovial meetings 
make it often the worst day of the week. 

Now they do not live thus, because they’ cannot sup- 
port themselves with less care and application to busi¬ 
ness; but they live thus because they want to grow rich 
m their trades, and to maintain their families in some 
such figure and degree of finery, as a reasonable Chris¬ 
tian lite has no occasion for. Take away but this tem¬ 
per, and then people of all trades, will find themselves at 
leisure to live every day like Christians, to be careful of 
every duty of the gospel, to live in a visible course of 
religion, and be every day strict observers both of nri- 
vate and public prayer. ^ 

Now the only way to do this, is for people to consider 
their trade, as something that they are obliged to devote 
to the glory of God, something that they are to do only 
in such a manner, as that they may make it a duty to 


DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 


03 


him. Notbinj^ can be right in business, that is not un¬ 
der these rules. The apostle commands 
servants, to be obedient to their masters Ephes. vi. 5. 
in sing-leness qf heart as unto Christ. Col. iii. 22 
J^^ot with exje-service as mcn-pleasers^ but 23. 
as the servants of Christ., domg the will of 
God from the heart. With ^^ood will doings service as 
unto the Lord., and not unto men. 

This passage sufficiently shews, that all Christians are 
to live wholly unto God in every state and condition, do¬ 
ing the work of their common calling in such a manner, 
and for such ends, as to make it a part of their devotion 
or service to God. For certai’^Iy if poor slaves are not 
to comply with their business as men pleasers, if they 
are to look wholly unto God in all their actions, and 
serve in singleness of heart, as unto the Lord, surely 
men of other employments and conditions must be as 
much obliged to go through their business with the same 
singleness of heart ; not as pleasing the vanity of their 
own minds, not as gratifying their own selfish, worldly 
passions, but as the servants of God in all that they have 
to do.^ For surely no one will say that a slave is to de¬ 
vote his state of life unto God, and make the will of God, 
the sole rule and end of his service, but that a tradesman 
need not act with the same spirit of devotion in his bu¬ 
siness. For this is as absurd, as to make it necessary 
for one man to be more just or faithful than another. 

It is therefore absolutely certain, that no Christian is 
to enter any further into business, nor for any other ends, 
than such as he can in singleness of heart offer unto 
God, as a reasonable service. For the son of God has 
redeemed us for this only end, that we should by a life 
of reason and piety live to the glory of God ; this is the 
only rule aud measure for every order and state of life-. 
Without this rule, the most lawful employment be¬ 
comes a sinful state of life. ^ 

Take away this from the life of a clergyman, and his 
holy professioVi serves only to expose him to a greater 
damnation. Take away this from tradesmen, and shops 
a^'G but so many houses of greediness and filthy lucre. 
Take away this from gentlemen, and the course of their 
life becomes a course of sensuality, pride and wanton- 


64 


A SERIOUS CALL TO A 


iicss. Take away this rule from our tables, and all falls 
into p^luttony and drunkenness. Take away this mea¬ 
sure from our dress and habits, and all is turned into such 
paint, and, glitter, and ridiculous ornaments, as are a real 
shame to, the wearer. Take away this from the use of our 
fortunes, and you will find people sparing in nothing but 
charity. Take away this from our diversions, and you 
wnll find no sports too silly, nor any entertainments too 
vain and corrupt to be the pleasure of Christians. 

If therefore we desire to live unto God, it is neces¬ 
sary to bring our whole life under this law, to make his 
glory the sole rule and measure of our acting in every 
employment of life. For there is no other true devo¬ 
tion, but this of living devoted to God in the common 
business of our lives. 

So that men must not content themselves with the law¬ 
fulness of their employments, hut must consider whe¬ 
ther they use them as they are to use every 
Colloss. iii. 1. thing, as strangers and pilgrims, that arc 
I Pet. i. 15,, baptized into the resurrection of Jesus 
Christ, that are to follow him in a wise 
Eph. v. 26, and heavenly course of life, in the morti- 
27. fication of all worldly desires, and in puri¬ 

fying and preparing their souls for the 
blessed enjoyment of God. 

For to be vain, or proud, or covetous, or ambitious in, 
the common course of our business, is as contrary to 
these holy tempers of Christianity, as cheating and dis- 
honesty. 

If a glutton was to say in excuse of his gluttony, that 
he only eats such things as it is lawful to eat, he would 
make as good an excuse for himself as the greedy, 
covetous, ambitious tradesman, that should say, he only 
deals in lawful business. For as a Christian is not only 
required to be honest, but to be of a Christian spirit, and 
make his life an exercise of humility, repentance and 
heavenly affection, so all teinpers that are contrary to 
these, are as contrary to. Christianity, as cheating is con¬ 
trary to honesty. 

So that the matter plainly comes to this: all irregu¬ 
lar tempers in trade and business, are but Ijkc irregulat: 
tempers in eating and drinking,, ^ 


DEYOfUT AOTX HOLY LH^E. 


6o 


Proud views and vain desires in our worldly employ¬ 
ments, are as truly vices and corruptions, as hypocrisy 
in prayer, or vanity in alms. And there can be no rea¬ 
son given why vanity in our alms should make us odi¬ 
ous to God, but what will prove any other kind of pride 
to be equally odious. He that labours and toils in a 
calling, that he may make a figure in the world, and draw 
the eyes of people upon the splendour of his condition, 
is as far from the pious humility of a Christian, as he 
that gives alms that he may be seen of men. For the 
reason why pride and vanity in our prayers and alms 
renders them an unacceptable service to God, is not 
because there is any thing particular in prayers and alms, 
that cannot allow of pride, but because pride is in no res¬ 
pect, nor in any thing made for man ; it destroys the 
piety of our prayers and alms, because it destroys the 
piety of every thing that it touches, and renders every 
action that it governs, incapable of being offered unto God. 

So that if we could so divide ourselves, as to be hum¬ 
ble in some respects, and proud in others, such humility 
would be of no service to us, because God requres us 
as truly to be humble in all our actions and designs, as 
to be true and honest in all our actions and designs. 

And as a man is not honest and true, because he is 
so to a great many people, or upon several occasions, 
but because truth and honesty is the measure of all his 
dealings with every body ; so the case is the same in 
humility, or any other temper, it must be the general 
ruling habit of our minds and extend itself to all our 
actions and designs, before it can be imputed to us. 

We indeed sometimes talk, as if a man might be 
humble in some things and proud in others, humble in 
his dress, but proud of his learning, humble in his per¬ 
son, but proud in his views and designs. But though 
this may pass in common discourse, where few things 
are said according to strict truth, it cannot be allowed 
when we examine into the nature of our actions. 

It is very possible for a man that lives by cheating, 
to be very punctual in paying for what he buys ; but then 
every one is assured, that he does not do so, out of any 
principle of true honesty. 

In like manner it is very possible for ^ mar. that k 


66 


A SERIOUS CALL TO A 


proud of his estate, ambitious in his views, or vain of 
his learnings to disregard his dress, and person, in such 
a manner as a truly humble man w'ould do ; but to 
suppose that he does so out of a true principle of re¬ 
ligious humility, is full as absurd, as to suppose that a 
cheat pays for what he buys, out of a p-rincip-le of reli¬ 
gious honesty. 

As therefore all kinds of dishonesty destroy our pre¬ 
tences to an honest principle of mind, so all kinds of 
pride destroy our pretences to an humble spirit. 

No one v/onders, that those prayers and alms, which 
proceed from pride and ostentation are odious to God 
but yet it is as easy to shew, that pride is as pardonable 
there, as any where else^ 

If we could suppose that God rejects pride in our 
prayers and alms, but bears with pride in our dress,.our 
persons, or estate, it would be the same thing as to sup¬ 
pose that God condemns falsehood in some actions, but 
allows it in others. For pride in one thing differs from 
pride in another thing, as the robbing of one man dif¬ 
fers from the robbing of another. 

Again, if pride and ostentation, is so odious that it 
destroys the merit and worth of the most reasonable ac¬ 
tions, surely it must be equally odious in those actions, 
which are only founded in the weakness and infirmity 
of our nature. As thus alms are commanded by God,, 
as excellent' in themselves, as true instances of divine 
temper, but clothes are only allowed to cover our shame • 
surely therefore it must at least be as odious a degree 
of pride, to be vain in our clothes, as to be vain in our 
alms. 

Again, we are commanded to pray without ceasing, 
as a means of rendering our souls more exalted and di¬ 
vine, but we are forbidden to lay up treasures upon 
earth ; and can we think that it is not as bad to be v^ain 
of those treasures which we are forbidden to lay up, as 
to be vain of those prayers, which we are commanded 
to make. 

Women are required to have their heads covered, and 
to ad^orn themselves with shamefacedness; if therefore 
1 C 05 . xi^ 13. ^hose things wdiich are 

. expressly forbidden, if they patch and 


DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 


67 


paint that part, which can only be 

adorned by shamefacedness,surely they I Tim. ii. 9 . 

have as much to repent of for such a 

pride, as they have, whose pride is the motive of their 

prayers and charity. 7"his must be granted, unless we 

will say, that it is more pardonable to glory in our shame, 

than to glory in our virtue. 

All these instances arc only to shew us the great ne¬ 
cessity of such a regular and uniform piety, as extends 
itself to all the actions of our common life. 

T hat we must eat and drink, and dress and discourse, 
according to the sobriety of the Christian spirit, engage 
in no employments but such as we can truly devote un¬ 
to God, nor pursue them any farther than so far as con¬ 
duces to the reasonable ends of a holy devout life. 

^ That we must be honest, not only on particular occa¬ 
sions, and in such instances as are applauded in the 
world, easy to be performed and free from danger or 
loss, but from such a living principle of justice, as makes 
us love truth and integrity in all its instances, follow k 
through all dangers, and against all opposition; as 
knowing that the more we pay for any truth, the better 
is our bargain, and that then our integrity becomes a 
pearl, when we have parted with all to keep it. 

That we must be humble, not only in such instances 
as are expected in the world, or suitable to our tempers, 
or confined to particular occasions, but in such an humi¬ 
lity of spirit, as renders us meek and lowly in the whole 
course of our lives, as shews itself in our dress, our per¬ 
son, our conversation, our enjoyment of the world, the 
tranquillity of our minds, patience under injuries, sub¬ 
mission to superiors, and condescensions to those that are 
below us, and in all the outward actions of our lives. 

That we must devote, not only times and places to 
prayer, but be every where in tlie spirit of devotion, 
with hearts always set towards heaven, looking up to 
God in all our actions, and doing every thing as his 
servants, living in the world as in the holy temple of God, 
and always worshipping him, though not with our lips, 
yet with the thankfulness of our hearts, the holiness of 
our actions, and the pious and charitable use of all his 
gifts. That we roust not only send, up petitions and 


A SERIOUS CALL TO A 


thoughts now and then to heaven, but must go through 
all our worldly business with an heavenly spirit, as mem¬ 
bers of Christ’s mystical body, that with new hearts, 
and new minds, are to turn an earthly life into a prepa¬ 
ration for a life of greatness and glory in the kingdom 
of heaven. 

Now the only way to arrive at this piety of spirit, is 
to bring all your actions to the same rule as your devo¬ 
tions and alms. You very well know what it is that 
makes the piety of your alms or devotions ; now the 
same rules, the same regard to God, must render every 
thing else that you do, a fit and acceptable service unto 
God. 

Enough, I hope, has been said to shew you the ne¬ 
cessity of thus introducing religion into all the actions 
of your common life, and of living and acting with the 
same regard to God in all that you do, as in your pray¬ 
ers and alms. 

Eating is one of the lowest actions of our lives, it isr 
common to us with mere animals, yet we see that the 
piety of all ages of the world, has turned this ordinary 
action of an animal life, into a piety to God-, by making 
every meal to begin and end with devotion. 

We see yet some remains of this custom in most Chris¬ 
tian families ; some such little formality as shews you, 
that people used to call upon God at the beginning and 
end of their meals. Bu^, indeed, it is now generally so 
performed, as to look more like a mockery on devotion, 
than any solemn application of the mind unto God. In 
one house you may perhaps see the head of the family 
just pulling off his hat, in another half getting up from 
his seat; another shall, it may be, proceed so far, as to 
make as if he said something ; but however, these little 
attempts are the remains of some devotion that was for¬ 
merly used at such times, and are proofs that religion 
has belonged to this part of common life. 

But to such a pass are we now come, that though the 
custom is yet preserved, yet we can hardly bear with 
him that seems to perform it with any degree of serious¬ 
ness, and look upon it as a sign of fanatical temper, if a 
man has not done it as soon as he begins. 

I would not be thought to plead for the necessity of 


DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 


69 


long prayers at these times ; but thus much I think 
may be said, that if prayer is proper at these times, we 
ought to oblige ourselves to use such a form of words as 
should shew that we solemnly appeal to God for such 
graces and blessings as are then proper to the occasion. 
Otherwise the mock ceremony, instead of blessing our 
victuals, does but accustom us to trifle with devotion, and 
give us a habit of being unalfccted with our prayers. 

If every head of a family was, at the return of every 
meal, to oblige himself to make a solemn adoration of 
God, in such a decent manner as becomes a devout mind, 
it would be very likely to teach him, that swearing, sen¬ 
suality, gluttony, and loose discourse, were very impro¬ 
per at those meals, which were to begin and end with 
devotion. 

And if in these days of general corruption, this part 
of devotion is fallen into a mock ceremony, it must be 
imputed to this cause, that sensuality and intemperance 
have got loo great a power over us, to suffer us to add 
any devotion to our meals. But thus much must be 
said, that when we are as pious as jews and heathens of 
all ages have been, we shall think it proper to pray at 
the beginning and end of our meals. 

I have appealed to this pious custom of all ages of 
the world, as a proof of the reasonableness of the doc¬ 
trine of this and the foregoing chapters ; that is, as a 
proof that religion is to be the rule and measure of all 
the actions of ordinary life. For surely, if we are not 
to eat, but under such rules of devotion, it must plainly 
appear, that whatever else we do, must in its proper 
way, be done with the same regard to the glory of God, 
and agreeably to the principles ot a devout and pious 
iniQd, 


70 


A SERIOUS CALL TO A 


CHAP. V. 


Pcr 807 is that are free from the necessity of labour and 
employments are to consider themselves as devoted to 
God in a higher degree. 


GRE AT part of the world are free from the ne¬ 
cessities of labour and employments, and have their time 
and lortunes in their own disposal. 

But as no one is to live in his employment according 
to his own humour, or for such ends as please his own 
f^ancy,>ut is to do all his business in such a manner, as 
to make it a service unto God; so those who have no 
particular employment, are so far from bein? left at 
peater liberty to live to themselves, to pursue tLir own 
humours, and spend their time and fortunes as they 
please, that ttey are under greater obligations of living 
wholly unto God in ail their actions. ° 

The freedom of their state lays them under a greater 
ne^ssity of always choosing and doing the best things. 

They are those, of whom much will be required, be¬ 
cause much is given unto them. 

A slave can only live unto God in one particular way • 
of^s\avery patience and submission in his stie 

of virtnp' holy living, all instances, and all kinds 

ot \iitue, he open to those who are masters of them¬ 
selves, their time and their fortune. 

It IS as much the duty, therefore, of such persons to 

Xkrntk'^'r“r °f‘heir Ubei ty, to devote themselves to 
all kinds of virtue, to aspire after every thing that is holy 
and pious, to endeavour to be eminent in all good works^ 

nerhighest and most perfect man- 
ner, it is as much their duty to be thus wise in the 
conduct of themselves, and thus extensive in thei? en! 

resUned umrOod^'^h’®" ‘r ^ he 

resigned unto God in his state of slavery. 

You are no labourer, or tradesman, you are neither 
merchant nor soldier; consider yourself, therefore, as 


DEVOUT AND HOLY LTFE. 


71 


phiced in a state in some degree like that of good an¬ 
gels, who are sent into the world as ministering spir¬ 
its, lor the general good of mankind, to assist, protect, 
and minister for them who shall be heirs of salva¬ 
tion. 

For the more you are free from the common neces¬ 
sities of men, the more you are to imitate the higher 
perfections of angels. 

Had you, Serena, been obliged by the necessities of 
life, to W’ash clothes for your maintenance, or to wait 
upon some mistress, that demanded all your labour, it 
would then be your duty to serve and gioiify God. by 
such humility, obedience, and faithfulness, as might 
adorn that state of life. 

It w'ould then be recommended to your care, to im¬ 
prove that one talent to its greatest height. That wiien 
the time came, that mankind were to be rewarded for 
their labours by the great judge of quick and dead, you 
might be received with a well done good and faithful 
servant^ enter thou into the joy of the Lord. St. Matth. 

XXV. 

But as God has given you five talents, as he has placed 
you above the necessities of life, as he has left you in the 
hands of yourself in the happy liberty of choosing the 
most exalted^ Avays of virtue, as he has enriched you 
with many gifts of fortune, and left you nothing to do, 
but to make the best use of variety of blessings, to 
make the most of a short life, to study your own per¬ 
fection, the honour ot God, and the good of your neigh¬ 
bour ; so it is now your duty to imitate the greatest 
servants of God, to inquire how the most eminent saints 
have lived, to study all the arts and methods of perfec¬ 
tion, and to set no bounds to your love and gratitude to 
the bountiful author of so many blessings. 

It is now your duty to turn your five talents into five 
more, and to consider how your time, and leisure, and 
health, and fortune, may be made so many happy means 
of purifying your own soul, improving your fellow-crea¬ 
tures in the ways of virtue, and of carrying you at last 
to the greatest heights of eternal glory. 

As you have no mistress to seiwe, so let your own soul 
be the obyect of your daily care and attendance. Be 


A SERIOUS CALL TO A 


r2 

sorry for its impunities, its sports and imperfections, 
and study all the holy arts of restoring it to its natural 
and primitive purity. 

Delight in its service, and beg of God to adorn it 
■with every grace and perfection. 

Nourish it with good works, give it peace in solitude, 
get it strength in prayer, make it wise with reading, 
enlighten it by meditation, make it tender with love, 
sweeten it with humility, humble it with patience, en¬ 
liven it with psalms and hymns, and comfort it with 
frequent reflections upon future glory. Keep it in the 
presence of God, and teach it to imitate those guardian 
angels whicn, though they attend on human affairs, 
and the lowest of mankind, yet always behold the face 
of our father which is in heaven. St. Matt, xviii. 10. 

/ Tiiis, Serena, is your profession. For as sure as God 
is one God, so sure it is, that he has but one command 
to all mankind, whether they be bond or free, rich or 
poor ; and that is, to act up to the excellency of that 
nature which he has given them, to live by reason, to 
walk in the light of religion, to use every thing as wis¬ 
dom directs, to glorify God in all his gifts, and dedicate 
every condition of life to his service. 

This is the one common command of God to all 
mankind. If you have an employment, you are to be 
thus reasonable, and pious and holy in the exercise of 
it; if you have time, and a fortune in your own pow¬ 
er, you are obliged to be thus reasonable, and holy, 
and pious, in the use of all your time, and all your for¬ 
tune. 

The right religious use of every thing, and every 
talent, is the indispensable duty of every being that is 
capable of knowing right and wrong. 

For the reason why we are to do any thing as unto 
God, and with regard to our duty, and relation to him, 
is the same reason, why we are to do every thing as 
unto God, and with regard to our duty, and relation to 
him. 

That, which is a reason for our being wise and holy 
in the discharge of all our business, is the same reason 
for our being wise and holy in the use of all our tnoney. 


DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 


73 


As we have always the same natures, and are every 
where the servants of the same God, as every place is 
equally full of his presence, and every thing is equally 
his gift, so we must always act according to the reason 
of our nature ; we must do every thing as the servants 
of God ; we must live in every place, as in his presence ; 
we must use every thing, as that ought to be used, which 
belongs to God. 

Either this piety and wisdom, and devotion is to go 
through every way of life, and to extend to the use of 
every thing, or it is to go through no part of life. 

If we might forget ourselves, or forget God, if we 
might disregard our reason, and live by humour and 
fancy in any thing, or at any time, or in any place, it 
would be as lawful to do the same in every thing, at 
every time, and every place. 

If therefore some people fancy, that they must be 
grave and solemn at church, but may be silly and fran¬ 
tic at home ; that they must live by some rule on the 
Sunday, but may spend other days by chance ; that they 
must have some times of prayer, but may waste tne rest 
of their time as they please ; that they must give some 
money in charity, but may squander avray the rest as 
they have a mind ; such people have not enough consi¬ 
dered the nature of religion, or the true reasons of piety. 
For he that upon principles of reason can tell, why it 
is good to be wise and heavenly minded at church, can 
tell that it is always desirable, to have the same tem¬ 
pers in all other places. He that truly knows, why he 
should spend any time well, knows tiiat it is never allow¬ 
able to throw any time away. He that riglitly under¬ 
stands the reasonableness and excellency of charity, 
will know, that it can never be excusable to waste any 
of our money in pride and folly, or in any needless ex¬ 
penses. 

For every argument that shews the wisdom and ex¬ 
cellency of charity, proves the wdsdom of spending all 
our fortune well. Every argument that proves the wis¬ 
dom and reasonableness of having times of prayer, shews 
the wisdom and reasonableness ol losing none of our time. 

If any one could shew, that we need not always act as 
jn the divine presence, that we need not consider and use 

G 


A SERIOUS CALL TO A 


r4 

every thing, as the gift of God, that we need not always 
live by reason, and make religion the rule of all our 
actions, the same arguments would shew, that we need 
never act as in the presence of God, nor make religion 
and reason the measure of any of our actions. If there¬ 
fore we are to live unto God at any time, or in any place, 
we are to live unto him at all times, and all places. If 
we are to use any thing as the gift of God, we are to 
use every thing as his gift. If we are to do any thing 
by strict rules of reason and piety, we ought to do every 
thing in the same manner. Because reason, and wis¬ 
dom, and piety are as much the best things at all times, 
and in all places, as they are the best things at any time, 
or in any place. 

If it is our glory and happiness to have a rational na¬ 
ture, that is endued with wisdom and reason, that is 
capable of imitating the divine nature ; then it must be 
our glory and happiness, to improve our reason and wis¬ 
dom, to act up to the excellency of our rational nature, 
and to imitate God in all our actions, to tlie utmost of our 
power. They therefore, who confine religion to times 
and places, and some little rules of retirement, who 
think that i-. is being too strict and rigid to introduce re¬ 
ligion into common life, and make it give laws to all their 
actions and ways of living, they who think thus, not only 
mistake, but they mistake the wdiole nature of religion. 
For surely they mistake the whole nature of religion, 
who can think any part of their life is made more easy, 
for being free from it. They may wxil be said to mis¬ 
take the whole nature of wisdom, who do not think it de¬ 
sirable to be always wise. He lias not learnt the nature 
of piety, who thinks it too much to be pious in all his 
actions. He does not sufficientiy understand what rea¬ 
son is, \v >o does not earnestly desire to live in every 
thing according to it. 

If we had a religion that consisted in absurd super¬ 
stitions, that had no regard to the perfection of our na¬ 
ture ; people might well be glad to have some part of 
their life excused from it. But as the religion of the 
gospel is only the refinement and exaltation of our best 
faculties, as it only requires a life of the highest reason, 
as it only requires us to use this world as in reason it 


DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 


75 


ought to be used, to live in such tempers as arc the glory 
of intelligent beings, to walk in such wisdom as exalts 
our nature, and to practise such piety, as will raise us to 
God ; who can think it grievous, to live always in the 
spirit of such a religion, to have every part of his life 
full of it, but he that w'ould think it much more grievous, 
to be as the angels of God in heaven ? 

Farther, as God is one and the same being, always 
acting like himself and suitably to his own nature, so it 
is the duty of every being that he has created, to live 
according to the nature that he has given it, and always 
to act like itself. 

It is therefore an immutable law of God, that all ra¬ 
tional beings should act reasonably in all their actions ; 
not at this time, or in that place, or upon this occasion, 
or in the use of some particular thing, but at all times, 
in all places, at all occasions, and in the use of all things. 
This is a law that is as unchangeable as God, and can 
no more cease to be, than God can cease to be a God of 
wisdom and order. 

When therefore any being that is endued with reason 
does an unreasonable tlung at any time, or in any place, 
or in the use of any thin;^, it sins against the great law 
of its nature, abuses itself, and sins against God the 
author of that nature. 

They therefore, wdio plead for indulgences and vani- ’ 
ties, for any foolish fashions, customs and humours of 
the world, for the misuse of our time or money, plead for 
a rebellion against our nature, for a rebellion against 
God, who has given us reason for no other end, than to 
make it the rule and measure of all our ways of life. 

When therefore you are guilty of any folly or extrava¬ 
gance, or indulge any vain temper, do not consider it as 
a small matter, because it may seem so, if compared to 
some other sins ; but consider it, as it is acting contrary 
to your nature, and then you will see that there is noth¬ 
ing small that is unreasonable. Because all unreason¬ 
able ways are contrary to the nature of all rational beings, 
whether men or angels. Neither of which can be any 
longer agreeable to God, than so far as they act accord¬ 
ing to the reason and excellence of their nature. 

The infiriiuties of human life make such food and 


A SERIOUS CALL TO A 


76 

raiinent necessary for us, as angels do not want: but 
then it is no more allowable for us to turn these neces¬ 
sities into follies, and indulge ourselves in the luxury of 
food, or the vanities of dress, than it is allowable for 
angels to act below the dignity of their proper state. 
For a reasonable life, and a wise use of our proper con¬ 
dition, is as much the duty of all men, as it is the duty 
of all angels and intelligent beings. These are not spe¬ 
culative flights, or imaginary notions, but are plain and 
undeniable laws, that are founded in the nature of ration¬ 
al beings, who as such are obliged to live by reason, and 
glorify God by a continual right use of their several 
talents and tuculties. So that though men arc not angels, 
yet they may know for what ends, and by what rules 
men are to live and act, by considering the state and per¬ 
fection of angels. Our blessed Saviour has plainly 
turned our thoughts this way, by making this petition a 
constant part of all our prayer. Thy will be done on earth 
as it is in heaven. A plain proof, that the obedience of 
men, is to imitate the obedience of angels, and that ra¬ 
tional beings on earth, are to live unto God, as rational 
beings in heaven live unto him. 

Wlien therefore you would represent to your mind, 
how Christians ought to live unto God, and in what de¬ 
grees of wisdom and holiness they ought to use the 
things of this life ; you must not look at the world, but 
you must look up to God and the society of angels, and 
think what wisdom and holiness is fit to prepare you for 
such a state of glory ; you must look to all the highest 
precepts of the gospel ; you must examine yourself by 
the spirit of Clirist; you must think how the wisest men 
in the world have lived ; you must think how departed 
souls would live, if they were again to act the short part 
of human life ; you must think what degrees of wisdom 
and holiness, you will wish for, when you arc leavine* 
the world. 

Now all this is not over-straining the matter or pro¬ 
posing to ourselves any needless perfection. It is but 
barely complying with the apostle’s advice, where he 
says. Finally brethren, whatsoever things are trite, what¬ 
soever things are Just, whatsoever things are fiure, what¬ 
soever things axe of good re^iort ; if there be any virtue. 


DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 


77 


and if there be any firaise^ think on these thmg's, Phil, 
iv. 8. For no one can come near the doctrine of this 
passage, but he that proposes to himself to do every 
thing in this life as a servant of God, to live by reason in 
every thing that he does, and to make the wisdom and 
holiness of the gospel, the rule and measure of his de¬ 
siring and using every gift of God. 


CHAP. VI. 

Containing the gi'eat obligations^ and the great advan¬ 
tages of making a wise and religious use of our estates 
ajid fortunes. 

- AS the holiness of Christianity consecrates all states 
and employments of life unto God, as it requires us to 
aspire after an universal obedience, doing and using 
every thing as the servants of God, so are w^e more es¬ 
pecially obliged to observe this religious exactness, in 
the use of our estates and' fortunes. 

The reason of this would appear very plain, if we 
were only to consider, that our estate is as much the 
gift of God, as our eyes, or our hands, and is no more 
to be buried, or thrown away at pleasure, than we are to 
put out our eyes, or throwaway our limbs, as we please. 

But besides this consideration, there are several other 
great and important reasons, why Ave should be reli¬ 
giously exact in the use of our estates. 

Firsts Because the manner of using our money, or 
spending our estate, enters so far into the business of 
every day, and makes so great a part of our common 
life, that our common life must be much of the same 
nature, as our common way of spending our estate. If 
reason and religion govern us in this; then reason and 
religion hath got great hold of us ; but if humeur, pride 
and fancy, are the measures of our spending our estates, 
then humour, pride and fancy, will have the direction 
of the greatest part of our life. 

Secondly^ Another great reason for devoting all our 
G 2 


A SERIOUS CALL TO A 


n . 

estate to right uses, is this, because it is capable of being 
used to the most excellent purposes, and is so great a 
means of doing good. If we waste it, we do not waste 
a trifle, that signifies little, but we waste that which 
might he made as eyes to the blind, as a husband to the 
widow, as a father to the orphan ; we waste that, which 
not only enables us to minister worldly comforts to those 
that arc in distress, but that which might purchase for 
ourselves everlasting treasures in heaven. So that if we 
part with our money in foolish ways, we part with a 
great power of comforting our fellow-creatures, and of 
making ourselves for ever blessed. 

If there be nothing so glorious as doing good, if there 
is nothing that makes us so like to God, then nothing 
can be so glorious in the use of our money, as to use it 
all in works of love and goodness, making ourselves 
friends, fathers, benefactors, to ail our fellow-creatures, 
imitating the divine love, and turning all our power inta 
acts of generosity, care and kindness, to such as are in 
need of it. 

If a man had eyes, and hands, and feet, that he could 
give to those that wanted them ; if he should either lock 
them up in a chest, or please himself with some need¬ 
less or ridiculous use of them, instead of giving them 
to his brethren that were blind and lame, should we not 
justly reckon him an inhuman wretch ? If he should 
rather choose to amuse himself with furnishing his house 
with those things, than to entitle himself to an eternal 
reward, by giving them to those that wanted eyes and 
hands, might we not justly reckon him mad ? 

Now money has very much the nature of eyes and 
feet; if we either lock it up in chests, or waste it in 
needless and ridiculous expenses upon ourselves, whilst 
the poor and the distressed want it for their necessary 
uses ; if we consume it in the ridiculous ornaments of 
apparel, whilst others are starving in nakedness, we are 
not far from the cruelty of him that chooses rather to 
adorn his house with the hands and eyes, than to give 
them to those that want them. If we choose to indulge 
ourselves in such expensive enjoyments, as have no real 
use in them, such as satisfy no real want, rather than to 
entitle ourselves to an eternal reward, by disposing of 


DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 


79 


our money well, we arc guilty of his madness, that 
rather chooses to lock up eyes and hands, than to make 
himself for ever blessed, by giving them to those that 
want them. 

For after we have satisfied our own sober and reason¬ 
able wants, all the rest of our money is but like spare 
eyes, or hands; it is something that we cannot keep to 
ourselves, without being foolish in the use of it, some¬ 
thing that can only be used well, by giving it to those 
that want it 

Thirdly^ If wx waste our money, we are not only 
guilty of wasting a talent which God has given us, we 
are not only guilty of making that useless, which is so 
powerful a means of doing good, but we do ourselves 
this farther harm, that we turn this useful talent into a 
powerful means of corrupting ourselves ; because so far 
as it is spent wrong, so far it is spent in the support of 
some wrong temper, in gratifying some vain and unrea¬ 
sonable desires in conforming to those fashions, and pride 
of the world, which, as Christians and reasonable men, 
we are obliged to renounce. 

As wit and fine parts cannot be trifled away and only 
lost, but will expose those that have them into greater 
follies, if they arc not strictly devoted to piety ; so money, 
if it is not used strictly according to reason and re¬ 
ligion, cannot only be trifled away, but it will betray peo¬ 
ple into greater follies, and make them live a more silly 
and extravagant life, than they could have done without 
it. If, therefore, you do not spend yoiir money in doing 
good to others, you must spend it to the hurt of your¬ 
self. You will act, like a man, that should refuse to 
give that as a cordial to a sick friend, though he could 
not drink it himself without inflaming his blood. For 
this is the case of superfluous money ; if you give it to 
those that want it, it is a cordial j if you spend it upon 
yourself in something that you do not want, it only in¬ 
flames and disorders your mind, and makes you worse 
than you would be without it. 

Consider again the forementioned comparison ; if the 
man that would not make the right use of spare eyes and 
hands, should by continually trying to use them hhuself, 


80 


A SERIOUS CALL TO A 


spoil his own eyes and hands, we might justly accu^se 
him of still greater madness. 

Now this is truly the case of riches spent upon our¬ 
selves in vain and needless expenses ; in trying to use 
them where they have no real use, nor we any real want, 
we only use them to our great hurt, in creating unrea¬ 
sonable desires, in nourishing ill tempers, in indulging 
our passions, and supporting a worldly, vain turn of 
mind. For high eating and drinking, fine clothes, and 
fine houses, state and equipage, gay pleasures and diver¬ 
sions, do all of them naturally hurt and disorder our 
hearts; they are the food and nourishment of all the 
folly and vveakness of our nature, and are certain means 
to make us vain and worldly in our tempers. They arc 
all of them the support of something that ought not to 
be supported ; they are contrary to that sobriety and 
piety of heart, which relishes divine things ; they are 
like so many weights upon our minds, that makes us 
less able, and less inclined to raise up our thoughts and 
affections to the things that are above. 

So that money thus spent, is not merely wasted or 
lost, but it is spent to bad purposes, and miserable effects,, 
to the corruption and disorder of our hearts, and to the 
making us less able to live up to the sublime doctrines 
of the gospel. It is but like keeping money from the 
poor, to buy poison for ourselves. 

For so much as is spent in the vanity of dress, may be 
reckoned so much laid out to fix vanity in our minds. 
So much as is laid out for idleness and indulgence, may 
be reckoned so much given to render our hearts dull and 
sensual. So much as is spent in state and equipage,may 
be reckoned so much spent to dazzle your own eyes, 
and render you the idol of your own imagination. And 
so in every thing, when you go from reasonable wants, 
you only support some unreasonable temper, some turn 
of mind, which every good Christian is called upon to 
renounce. 

So that on all accounts, whether we consider our for¬ 
tune as a talent and trust from God, or the great good 
that it enables us to do, or the great harm that it does to 
ourselves, if idly spent; on all these great accounts it 


DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 


81 


appears, that it is absolutely necessary, to make reason 
and religion the strict rule of using all our fortune. 

Every exhortation in scripture to be v/ise and reason¬ 
able, satisfying only such wants as God would have sa- 
. tisfied ; every exhortation to be spiritual and heavenly, 
pressing after a glorious change of our nature ; every 
exhortation to love our neighbour as ourselves, to love 
all mankind as God has loved them, is a command to 
be strictly religious in the use of our money. For none 
of these tempers can be complied with, unless we be 
wise and reasonable, spiritual and heavenly, exercising a 
brotherly love, a godlike charity in the use of all our 
fortune. These tempers, and this use of our worldly 
goods, is so much the doctrine of all the new testa¬ 
ment, that you cannot read a chapter, without being 
taught something of it. I shall only produce one re¬ 
markable passage of scripture, which is sufficient to jus¬ 
tify all that I have said concerning this religious use of 
all our fortune. 

“ When the son of man shall come in his glory, and 
all the holy angels with him, then shall he sit upon the 
throne of his glory. And before him shall be gathered 
all nations; and he shall separate them one from another, 
as a shepherd divideth the sheep from the goats ; and he 
shall set the sheep on his right hand, but the goats on the 
left. Then shall the king say unto them on his right 
hand, come, ye blessed of my father, inherit the king¬ 
dom prepared for you from the foundation of the world. 
For I was an hungred, and ye gave me meat: I was 
thirsty, and ye gave me drink ; 1 was a stranger and ye 
took me in ; naked, and ye clothed me ; I was sick and 

ye visited me ; I was in prison and ye came unto me__ 

Then shall he say unto them on the left hand, depart 
from me, ye cursed, into everlasting fire, prepared for 
the devil and his angels : for I was an hungred, and ye 
gave me no meat; I was thirsty, and ye gave me no 
drink ; I w'as a stranger, and ye took me not in ; naked, 
and ye clothed me not; sick, and in prison, and ye visit¬ 
ed me not. These shall go away into everlasting pun¬ 
ishment, but the righteous into life eternal.” 

I iiave quoted this passage at length, because if one 
looks at the way of the "world, one would hardly think, 


^2 


A SERIOUS CALL TO A 


that Christians had ever read this part of scripture. 
For what is there in the lives of Christians, that looks 
as if their salvation depended upon these good works ? 
And yet the necessity of them is here asserted in the 
highest manner, and pressed upon us by a lively de¬ 
scription of the glory and terrors of the day of iudtr- 
ment. ^ 

^ Some people, even of those who may be reckoned 
virtuous Christians, lock upon this text only as a general 
recommendation of occasional works of charity ; where¬ 
as it shews the necessity not only of occasional charities 
now and then, but the necessity of such an entire char¬ 
itable life, as is a continual exercise of all such works of 
charity as we are able to perform. 

You own, that you have no title to salvation, if you 
have neglected these good works ; because such persons 
as have neglected them, are at the last day to be placed 
on the left hand, and banished with a depart ye cursed. 
There is, therefore, no salvation but in the performance 
of these good works. Who is it, therefore, that may 
be said to have performed these good works ? Is it he 
that has sometimes assisted a prisoner, or relieved the 
poor or sick ? This would be as absurd, as to say, that 
he had performed the duties of devotion, who had some¬ 
times said his prayers. Is it, therefore, he that has sev¬ 
eral times done these works of charity ? This can no 
more be said, than he can be said to be the truly just 
nian, who had done acts of justice several times. What 
is the rule therefore, or measure of performing these 
good works ? How shall a man trust that he performs 
them as he ought ? 

Now the rule is very plain and easy, and such as is 
common to every other virtue, or good temper, as well 
as to charity.;-Who is the humble, or meek, or devout, 
Gt just, or laithful man ? Is it he that has several times 
done acts of humility, meekness, devotion, justice, or 
fidelity ? No. But it is he that lives in the habitual ex¬ 
ercise of these virtues. In like manner, he only can be 
said to have performed these works of charity, who lives 
in the habitual exercise of them to the utmost of his pow¬ 
er. He only has performed the duty of divine love, 
who loves God with all his heart, and with all his mind, 


DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 


-83 


and all his strength. And he only has performed 
the duty of these good works, who has done them with 
all his heart, and with all his mind, and with all nis 
strength. For there is no other measure of our doing 
good, than our power of doing it. 

The apostle St. Peter puts this question to our bles¬ 
sed Saviour, Lord^ honv oft shall my brother sin against 
me, and Iforgive hwiy till seven times ? Je¬ 
sus saith unto him^ I say not unto thee^ until Matt. iii. 22. 
seven times ; but until seventy times seven. 

Not as if alter this number of offences, a man might 
tken cease to forgive ; but tne expression of seventy 
times seven, is to shew us that we are not to bound our 
forgiveness by any number of offences, but are to con¬ 
tinue forgiving the most repeated offences against us. 
Thus our Saviour saith in another place, 
if he trespass against thee seven times in Luke xvii. 4. 
2 day, and seven times in a day turn again 
to thee, saying, I repent, thou shait forgive him. If, 
therefore, a man ceases to forgive his brother, because 
he has forgiven him often already ; if he excuses Him¬ 
self from forgiving this man, because he has forgiven 
several others ; such a one breaks this law of Christ, 
concerning the forgiving one’s brotner. 

Now the ruiC of forgiving, is aiso the rule of giving ; 
you are not to give, or do good to seven, but to seventy- 
times seven. You are not to cease from giving, because 
you have given often to the same pei son, or to other 
persons ; but must look upon yourself as much obliged 
to continue relieving those that continue in wants, as you 
was obliged to relieve them once, o*- twice. Had it not 
been in your power, you had been excused from reliev¬ 
ing any person once ; but if it is in your power to relieve 
people often, it is as much your duty lo Jo it often, as 
it is the duty of others to do it but seldom, because 
they are but seldom able. He that is not ready to for¬ 
give every brotner, as often as he wants to be forgiven 
does not forgive like a disciple ol Christ. And he that 
is not ready to give lo every brother, that wants to 
have something given him, does not give like a disci¬ 
ple of Christ. For it is as necessary co give to seventy 
times seven, to live in the continu-ai exercise of all good 


84 


A SERIOUS CALL TO A 


works to the utmost of our power, as it is necessary to 
forgive until seventy times seven, and live in the habit¬ 
ual exercise of this forgiving temper towards all that 
want it. 

And the reason of all this is very plain, because there 
is the same goodness, the same excellency, and the same 
necessity of being thus charitable at one time, as at an¬ 
other. It is as much the best use of our money, to be 
always doing good with it, as it is the best use of it at 
any particular time; so that that which is a reason for 
a charitable action, is a good reason for a charitable life. 
That which is a reason for forgiving one offence, is the 
same reason for forgiving all offences. For such chari¬ 
ty has nothing to recommend it to-day, but what will be 
the same recommendation of it to-morrow; and you 
cannot neglect it at one time, without being guilty of the 
same sin, as if you neglected it at another time. 

As sure, therefore, as these works of charity are ne¬ 
cessary to salvation, so sure is it, that we are to do them 
to the utmost of our power; not to-day, or to-morrow, 
but through the whole course of our life. If therefore 
it be our duty at any time to deny ourselves any needless 
expenses, to be moderate and frugal, that we may have 
to give to those that want, it is as much our duty to do 
so at all times, that we may be farther able to do more 
good : for if it is at any time a sin to prefer needless, 
vain expense to works of charity, it is so at all times : 
because charity as much excels all needless and vain ex¬ 
penses at one time as another. So that if it is ever ne¬ 
cessary to our salvation, to take care of these works of 
charity, and to see that we make ourselves in some de¬ 
gree capable of doing them: it is as necessary to our 
salvation, to take care to make ourselves as capable as we 
can be, of performing them in all the parts of our life. 

Either therefore you must so far renounce your Chris¬ 
tianity, as to say, that you need never perform any of 
these good works ; or you must own, that you are to 
perform them all your life in as high a degree as you are 
able. There is no middle way to be taken, any more 
than there is a middle way betwixt pride and humi- 
lity, or temperance and intemperance. If you do not 
strive to fulhl all charitable works, if you neglect any of 


DEVOUT AKD HOLY LIFE. 


-them that are in your power) and deny assistance to those 
that w^ant what you can give, let it be when it will, or 
'where it will, you number yourself amongst those that 
want Christian charity. Because it is as much your 
duty to do good with all that you have, and to live in the 
continual exercise of good works, as it is your duty to 
be temperate in all that you eat and drink. 

Hence also appears the necessity of renouncing all 
those foolish and unreasonable expenses, which the pride 
and folly of mankind has made so common and fashion¬ 
able in the world. For if it is necessary to do good 
works as far as you are able, it must be as necessary to 
renounce those needless ways of spending money, which 
render you unable to do works of charity. 

You must therefore no more conform to these ways 
of the world, than you must conform to the vices of the 
■\\'orld: you must no more spend with those that idly 
waste their money as their own humour leads them, 
than you must drink with the drunken, or indulge your¬ 
self with the epicure ; because a course of such expen¬ 
ses is no more consistent wdth a life of charity, than 
excess in drinking is consistent with a life of sobriety. 
When therefore any one tells you of the lawfulness of 
expensive apparel, of the innocency of pleasing yourself 
with costly satisfactions, only imagine that if the same 
person was to tell you, that you need not do woi-ks of 
charity, that Christ does not require you to do good unto 
your poor brethren, as unto him, and then you will see 
the wickedness of such advice ; for to tell you, that you 
may live in such expenses, as to make it impossible for 
you to live in the exercise of good works, is the same 
thing as telling you, that you need not have any care 
about such good works themselves. 


H 


86 


A SERIOUS CALL TO A 


CHAP. VII. 

//ow the imfirudent use of an estate corrutits all the 
tempers oj the mind, and fills the heart ‘with floor and 
ridiciUous passions, through the whole course of life • 

represented in the character of ^ * 

It has already been observed, that a prudent and 
ligious care is to be used, in the manner of spendine; our 
money oi\estate, because the manner of spending our 
estate makes so gi^at a part of our common life, and 
we ' business of every day, that according as 

we aie wise, or imprudent, in tiiis respect, the whole 
course of our lives, will be rendered either very wise 
or very full ol folly. ^ 

Persons that are well affected to religion, that receive 
pleasure and satisfaction, often 
wonder how it comes to pass, that tney make no greater 
^ I'ehgion which they so much admire. 

Now the reason of it is this : it is because religion 
lives only in their head, but something else has posses¬ 
sion of tneir hearts; and therefore tlfey cLtinueTom 
yeai to year mere admirers, and praisers of pietv with 

p;“cepts.'°'“"® perfection of it 

theh-*hMrt?'ihe possession of 

tneii iieaits, the reason is this. It is not because thev 

ive in gross sms, or debaucheries, for their regard to 

ehgion preserves them from such disorders. But it is 

‘=°''''‘antly employed, perverted 

The use and enjoyment of their estates is lawful and 

“ Sf 'r? “ '“'T” 

itoi II,m I,. iJ,p,.ua;«d. Vital; S,"’ 

and dulness, such pride an7vanity, as makeTiXc? 
pable of receiving the life and spirit of piety. 


DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 


87 


For our souls may receive an infinite hurt, and be ren- 
dered incapable of all virtue, merely by the use of inno¬ 
cent and lawful things. 

What is more innocent than rest and retirement ? And 
yet what more dangerous, than sloth and idleness ? 
What is more lawful than eating and drinking ? And yet 
what more destructive of all virtue, what more fruitful 
of all vice, than sensuality and indulgence ? 

How lawlui and praise-worthy is the care of a family ? 
And yet how certainly are many people rendered 
incapable of all virtue, by a worldly and solicitous tem¬ 
per ? 

Now it is for want of religious exactness in the use of 
these innocent and lawful tilings, that religion cannot 
get possession of our hearts. And it is in the right and 
pruilent management of ourselves, as to these "things, 
that all the art of holy living chiefly consists. 

Gross sins are plainly seen, and easily avoided by per¬ 
sons that profess religion. But the indiscreet and dan¬ 
gerous use of innocent and lawful things, as it does not 
shock and offend our conscience, so it is difficult to make 
people at all sensible of the danger of it. 

A gentleman that expends all his estate in sports, and 
a woman that lays out all her fortune upon herself, can 
hardly be persuaded that the spirit of religion cannot 
subsist in such a way of life. 

These persons, as has been observed, may live free 
from debaucheries, they may be friends of religion, so 
far as to praise and speak \veii of it, and admire it in 
their imaginations; but it cannot govern their hearts, 
and the spirit of their actions, until they change their 
way of life, and let religion give law's to the use and 
spending of their estates. 

For a woman that loves dress, that thinks no expense 
too great to bestow upon the adorning of her person, 
cannot stop there. For that temper draws a thousand 
other follies along with it, and will render the Avhole 
course of her life, her business, her conversation, her 
hopes, her fears, her taste, her pleasures, and diversions, 
all suitable to it. 

Flavia and Miranda are two maiden'sisters, that have 
each of them two hundred pounds a year. They buried 


88 


A SERIOUS CALL TO A 


their parents twenty years ago, and have since that time 
spent their estate as they pleased. 

Flavia has been the wonder of all her friends, for her 
excellent management, in making so surprising a figure 
on so moderate a fortune. Several ladies that have twice 
her fortune, are not able always to be so genteel, and 
so constant at all places of pleasure and expense. She 
has every thing that is in the fashion, and is in every 
place where there is any diversion. Flavia is very ortho¬ 
dox, she talks warmly against heretics, and schismatics, 
is generally at church, and often at the sacrament. 
She once commended a sermon that was against the 
pride and vanity of dress, and thought it was very just 
against Lucinda, whom she takes to be a great deal finer 
than she need to be. If anyone asks Flavia to do some¬ 
thing in charity, if she likes the person who makes the 
proposal, or happens to be in a right temper, she will 
toss him half a crown or crown, and tell him, if he knew 
what a long milliner’s bill she had just received he 
would think it a great deal for her to give. A quarter 
of a year after this, she hears a sermon upon the neces¬ 
sity of charity ; she thinks the man preaches well, that 
it is a very proper subject, that people want much to be 
put in mind of it; but she applies nothing to herself, 
because she remembers that she gave a crown some 
time ago, when she could so ill spare it. 

x\s for poor people themselves, she will admit of no 
complaints from them ; she is very positive they are all 
i'heats and liars, and will say any thing to get relief, and 
therefore it must bo a sin to encourage them in their 
evil ways. 

You wo\ild think T lavia had the tendercst conscience 
in the world, it you was to see how scrupulous and 
apprehensive she is of the guilt and danger of uiving 
amiss. ^ ^ 

She buys all books of wit and humour, and has made 
an expensive collection of all our English poets. For, 
she says, one cannot have a true taste of any of thent,^ 
without being very conversant with them all. 

She will sometimes read a book of piety, if it is a 
short one, if it is much commended for style and lan¬ 
guage, and, she can tell where to borroty it 


DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 


89 


Flavia is very idle, and yet very fond of fine works ; 
this makes her often sit working in bed until noon, and 
be told many a long story before she is up ; so that I 
need not tell you that her morning devotions are not al¬ 
ways rightly performed. 

Flavia would be a miracle of piety, if she was but half 
so careful of her soul as she is of her body. The rising of 
a pimple in her face, the sting of a gnat, will make her 
keep her room two or three days, and she thinks they 
are very rash people, that do not take care of things in 
lime. This makes her so over-careful of her health, 
that she never thinks she is well enough; and so over- 
indulgent, that she never can be really well. So that it 
costs her a great deal in sleeping-draughts, and waking- 
draughts, in spirits for the head, in drops for the nerves, 
in cordials for the stomach, and in saffron for her 
tea. 

If you visit Flavia on the Sunday, you will always 
meet good company, you will know what is doing in the 
world, you will hear the last lampoon, be told who wrote 
it, and who is meant by every name that is in it. You 
will hear what plays were acted that week, which is the 
finest song in the opera, who was intolerable at the last 
assembly, and what games are most in fashion. Flavia 
thinks they are atheists that play at cards on the Sun¬ 
day, but she will tell you the nicety of all the games, 
what cards she held, how she played them, and the his¬ 
tory of all that happened at play, as soon as she comes 
from church. If you would know who is rude and ill- 
natured, who is vain and foppish, who lives too high, 
and who is in debt. If you would know what is the 
quarrel at a certain house, or who and who are in love. 
If you would know how late Belinda comes home at 
night, what clothes she has bought, how she loves com¬ 
pliments, and what a long story she told at such a place. 
If you would know how cross Lucius is to his wife, 
what ill-natured things he says to her when nobody 
hears him; if you would know how they hate one an¬ 
other in their hearts, though they appear so kind in pub¬ 
lic ; you must visit Flavia on the Sunday. But still she 
has so great a regard for the holiness of the Sunday, that 
she has turned a poor old widow out of her house, as a 
H 2 


A SERIOUS CALL t'O A 


90 

profane wretch, for having been found once mending: 
her clothes on Sunday night. 

Thus lives FI avia ; and rf she lives ten years longer, 
she Avili have spent about fifteen hundred and sixty Sun¬ 
days after this manner. She will have wore about two 
hundred different suits of clothes. Out of this thirty 
years of her life, fifteen of them will have been disposed 
of in bed; and of the remaining fi fteen, about fourteen of 
them will have been consumed in eating, drinking, dress¬ 
ing, visiting, conversation, reading and hearing plays 
and romances, at operasj assemblies, balls and diver¬ 
sions. For you may reckon all the time she is up, thus 
spent, except about an hour and a half, that is disposed of 
at church, most Sundays in the year. With great man¬ 
agement, and under mighty rules of economy, she will 
have spent sixty hundred pounds upon herself, bating 
only some shillings, crowns, or half-crowns, that have 
gone from her in accidental charities. 

I shall not take upon me to say, that it is impossible 
for Flavia to be saved ^ but thus much must be said,- 
that she has-no grounds from scripture to think she is in^ 
the way of salvation. For her whole life is in direct op¬ 
position to all those tempers, and practices, AVhieh the’ 
gospel has made necessary to salvation. 

^ If you was to hear her say, that she had lived all her 
life like Anne the prophetess, iiTfio dc/ia^rted not from the 
temple^ but served God •with fastings and prayers night 
and day^ you would look upon her as very extravagant;; 
and yet this would be no greater an extravagance,'than 
for her to say, that she had been striving to enter in at 
the strait gate^ or making any one doctrine of the gos¬ 
pel, a rule of her life. 

She may as well say, that she lived with our Saviour 
when he was upon earth, as that she has lived m imita¬ 
tion of him, or made it any part of her care to live in 
such tempers, as he required all of those that Avould be 
his disciples. She may as truly say, that she has every 
day washed the saint’s feet, as that she has lived in Chris¬ 
tian humility, and poverty of spirit; and as reasonably 
think, that she has taught a charity-school, as that she 
has lived in works of charity. She has as much reason 
to think, that she has been a centinel in an army, as that 


DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE, 


91 


fehe has lived in watchingj and self-denial. And it may 
as fairly be said, that she lived by the labour of .her 
hands, as that she had given all diligence to make her 
calling and election sure. 

And here it is well to be observed, that the poor, vain 
turn of mind, the irreligion, the folly and vanity of this 
whole life of Flavia, is all owing to the manner of using 
her estate. It is this that has formed her spirit, that 
has given life to every idle temper, that has supported 
every trifling passion, and kept her from all thoughts of 
a prudent, useful, and devout life. 

When her parents died, she had no thought about her 
two hundred pounds a year, but that she had so much 
money to do what she would with, to spend upon herself, 
and purchase the pleasures and gratifications of ail her 
passions. 

And it is this setting out, this false judgement, and 
indiscreet use of her fortune, that has filled her whole 
life with the same indiscretion, and kept her from think¬ 
ing of what is right, and wise, and pious in every thing 
else. 

If you have seen her delighted in plays and romances, 
in scandal and backbiting,‘easiiy flattered, and soon af¬ 
fronted. If you have seen her devoted to pleasures and 
divercioijs, a slave to every passion in its turn, nice in 
every thing that concerned her body or dress, careless 
of every thing that might benefit her soul, always want¬ 
ing some new entertainment, and ready for every happy 
invention, in shew or dress, it was because she had pur¬ 
chased all these tempers with the yearly revenue of her 
fortune. 

She might have been humble, serious, devout, a lover 
of good books, an admirer of prayer and retirement, 
careful of her time, diligent in good works, full of 
charity and the love of God, but that the imprudent 
use of her estate forced all the contrary tempers upon 
her. 

And it was no wonder, that she should turn her time, 
her mind, her health and strength to the same uses that 
she turned her fortune. It is owing to her being wrong 
in so great an article of life, that you can see nothing 


92 


A SERIOUS CALL TO A 


wise, or reasonable, or pious in any other part of it. 

Now thoup^h the irregular trifling spirit of this char¬ 
acter belongs, I hope, but to few people, yet many may 
here learn some instruction from it, and perhaps see 
something of their own spirit in it. 

For as Flavia seems to be undone by the unreasonable 
use of her fortune, so the lowness of most people’s vir¬ 
tue, the imperfections of their piety, and the disorders of 
their passions, is generally owing to th^ir imprudent use 
and enjoyment of lawful and innocent things. 

More people are kept from a true sense and state of 
religion by a regular kind of sensuality and indulgence, 
than by gross drunkenness More men live regardless 
of the great duties of piety, through too great a concern 
for worldly goods, than through direct injustice. 

This tnan would perhaps be devout, if he was not so 
great a virtuoso. Another is deaf to all' the rnotives to 
piety, by indulging an idle, slothful temper. 

Could you cure this man of his great curiosity and 
inquisitive temper, or that of his false satisfaction and 
thirst alter learning, you need do no more to make them 
both become men of great piety. 

If this woman would make fewer visits, or that not be 
always talking, rhoy would neither of them find it half 
so hard to be affected with religion. 

For all these things are only little, when they are 
compared to great sins; and though they are little in 
that respect, yet they are great, as they are impediments, 
and hindrances of a pious spirit. 

For as consideration is the only eye of the soul, as the 
truths of religion can be seen by nothing else, so what¬ 
ever raises a levity of mind, a trifling spirit, renders the 
soul incapable of seeing, apprehending, and relishing the 
doctrines of piety. 

Would we therefore make a real progress in religion, 
we must not only abhor gross and notorious sins, but we 
must regulate the innocent and lawful parts of our be¬ 
haviour, and put the most common and allowed actions 
of life unde^ the rules of discretion and piety. 


DEVOUT AND HOLY LITE. 


93 


CHAP. VIII. 

7/ow the Koise and fiious use of an estate^ naturally carri- 

eth us to great fierfection in all the virtues of the chris- 

tian life ; re/iresentcd in the character of Miranda. 

ANY one pious regularity of any one part of our 
life, is of great advantage, not only on its own account, 
but as it uses us to live by rule, and think of the govern¬ 
ment of ourselves. 

A man of business, that has brought one part of his 
affairs under certain rules, is in a fair way to take the 
same care of the rest. 

So he that has brought any one part of his life under 
%he rules of religion, may thence be taught to extend 
the same order and regularity into other parts of his life. 

If any one is so wise as to think his time too precious 
to be disposed of by chance, and left to be devoured by 
any thing that happens in his way. If he lays himself 
under a necessity of observing how every day goes 
through his hands, and obliges himself to a certain order 
of time in his business, his retirements, and devotions, 
it is hardly to be imagined, how soon such a conduct 
would reform, improve, and perfect the whole course of 
his life. 

He that once knows the value, and reaps the advan¬ 
tage of a well-ordered time, will not long be a stranger 
to the value of any thing else that is of any real concern 
to him. 

A rule that relates even to the smallest part of our life, 
is of great benefit to us, merely as it is a rule. 

For, as the proverb saith, He that has begun well, has 
half done : so he that has begun to live by rule, has gone 
a great way towards the perfection of his own life. 

By rule, must here be constantly understood, a reli¬ 
gious rule, observed upon a principle of duty to God. 

For if a man should obli'ge himself to be moderate in 
his meals, only in regard to his stomach, or abstain from 
drinking, only to avoid the head-ache ; or be moderate ia 


94 


A SERIOUS Call to a 


his sleep, through fear of a lethargy, he might be exact 
in these rules, without being at all the better man for 
them. 

But when he is moderate and regular in any of these 
things, out of a sense of Christian sobriety, and self-de¬ 
nial, that he may offer unto God a more reasonable and 
holy life, then it is that the smallest rule of this kind, is 
naturally the beginning of great piety. 

For the smallest rule in these matters is of great bene¬ 
fit, as it teaches us some part of the government of our¬ 
selves, as it keeps up a tenderness of mind, as it presents 
God often to our thoughts, and brings a sense of reli¬ 
gion into the ordinary actions, of our common life. 

II a man, whenever he was in company, where any 
one swore, talked lewdly, or spoke evil of his neighbour, 
should make it a rule to himself, either gently to reprove 
him, or if thtit was not proper, tnento leave tne com¬ 
pany as decently as he could ; life would find, that this 
little rule, like a little leaven hid in a great quantity of 
meal, would spread and extend itself through the whole 
form ol his life. 

If another should oblige himself to abstain on the 
Lord’s day from many innocent and lawful things, as 
travelling, visiting, common conversation, and discours¬ 
ing upon worldly matters, as trade, news, and the like ; 
if he should devote the day, besides the public worship 
to greater retirement, reading, devotion, instruction, and 
works of charity ; though it may seem but a small thing, 
or a needless nicety, to require a man to abstain from 
such things, as may be done without sin, vet whoever 
would try the benefit of so little a rule, would perhaps 
thereby find such a change made in his spirit, and such 
a taste of piety raised in his mind, as he was an entire 
stranger to before. 

It would be easy to shew in many other instances, how 
littie and small matters are the first steps, and natural 
beginnings of great perfection. 

But the two things, which of all others most want to 
be under a strict rule, and which are the greatest bles¬ 
sings both to ourselves and others, when they are rightly 
used, are our time and our money. These talents are 
continual means and opportunities of doing good. 


95 


DEVOUT AND IfOLY UPE, 


ile that IS piously strict, and exact in the wise man^ 
cannot be long ignorant of the 
igdit use of the other. And he that is happv in the re¬ 
ligious care and disposal of them both, is already ascend- 
cd several steps upon the ladder of Christian perfection. 

X liianda, (the sister of Flavia) is a sober reasonable 
Christian; as soon as she was mistress (#her time and 
fortune, it was her first thought how she might best ful¬ 
fil every thing that God required of her in the use of 
them, and how she inight make the best and happiest use 
of this short life. She depends upon tiie truth of what 
our blessed Lord hath said, t/iat there is but one thintr 
needful, therefore makes her whole life but one con- 
tinual labour after it. She has but one reason for doin^ 
or not doing, for liking or not liking any tning, and that 
is the will of God. She is not so weak as to pretend to 
add, what is called the fine lady, to tlie true Christian ; 
Miranda thinks too well to be taken witli the sound of 
such silly words ; she, has renounced the w’orld, to fol¬ 
low Christ in the exercise of humility, charity, devotion, 
abstinence, and heavenly affections; and that is .Miran¬ 
da s fine breeding. 

Whilst she was under her mother, she was forced to 
be genteel, to live in ceremony, to sit up late at nights, 
to be in the folly of every fasnion, and aiw'ays visiting 
on Sundays. To go patched, and loaded with a burden 
of finery to the holy sacrament; to be in eveiy polite 
conversation, to hear profaneness at the play-house, and 
wanton songs and love intrigues at the opera, to dance 
at public places, that fops and rakes might admire t^e 
fineness of her shape, and the beauty of her motions 
The remembrance of this way of life, makes her ex¬ 
ceedingly careful to atone for it, by a contrary beha¬ 
viour 


Miranda does not divide her duty between God, her 
neighbour, and herself, but she considers all as due to 
God, and so does every thing in his name, and for his 
sake. This makes her consider her fortune as the gift of 
God, that is to be used as every thing is, that beloiigs to- 
God, for the wise and reasonable ends of a Christian and 
holy life. Her fortune therefore is divided betwixt her¬ 
self, and several other poor people, and she has only her 


^6 


A SERIOUS CALL TO A 


part of relief from it She thinks it the same folly to 
indulge herself in needless, vain expenses, as to give to 
other people to spend in the same way. Therefore as 
she will not give a poor man money to goto see a pup¬ 
pet-show, neither will she allow herself any to spend in 
the same manner; thinking it very proper to be as wise 
herself, as she expects poor men should be. For it is a 
folly and a crime in a poor man, says Miranda, to waste 
whatis given him, in foolish trifles, whilst he wants meat, 
drink, and clothes ? And is it less folly, or a less crime 
in me to spend that money in silly diversions, which 
might be so much better spent in imitation of the divine 
goodness, in works of kindness and charity towards my 
fellow creatures, and fellow Christians ? If a poor man’s 
own necessities are a reason, why he should not waste 
any of his money idly, surely the necessities of the poor, 
the excellency of charity, which is received as done to 
Christ himself, is a much greater reason, why no one 
should ever waste any of his money. For if he does so 
he does not only do like the poor man, only waste that 
which he wants himself, but he wastes that which is 
wanted for the most noble use, and which Christ himself 
is ready to receive at his hands. And if we are angry 
at a poor man, and look upon him as a wretch, when 
he throws away that which should buy his own bread; 
how must we appear in the sight of God, if we make a 
wanton idle use of that which would buy bread and 
clothes for the hungry and naked brethren, who are as 
near and dear to God as we are, and fellow heirs of the 
same state of future glory ? This is the spirit of Miran¬ 
da, and thus sue uses the gifts of God : she is only one 
of a certain number of poor people, that are relieved 
out of her fortune, and she only differs from them in 
the blessedness of giving. 

Excepting her victuals, she never spent ten pounds a 
year upon herself. If you was to see her, you would 
wonder what poor body it was that was so surprisingly 
neat and clean. She has but one rule that she observes 
in her dress, to be always clean and in the cheapest 
things. Every thing about her resembles the purity of 
her soul, and she is always clean without, because she 
is always pure within-. ^ 


DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE, yr 

Every morning secs her early at her prayers, she re- 
jDices in the beginning of every day, because it begins 
all her pious rules of holy living, and brings the freslx 
pleasure of repeating them. She seems to be as a guar¬ 
dian angel to those that dwell about her, with her watch¬ 
ings and prayers blessing the place where she dwells, and 
making intercession with God for those that are asleep- 

Her devotions have had some intervals, and God has 
heard several of her private prayers, before the light is 
suffered to enter into her sister’s room. Miranda does 
not know what it is to have a dull half-day ; the returns 
of her hours of prayer, and her religious exercises, come 
too often to let any considerable part of time lie heavy 
upon her hands. 

When you see her at work, pu seethe same wisdom 
that governs all her other actions, she is either doing 
something that is necessary for herself or necessary for 
others, who want to be assisted. There is scarce a poor 
family in the neighbourhood, but wears something or 
other that has had the labour of her hands. Her wise 
and pious mind, neither wants the amusement, nor can 
bear with the folly of idle«and impertinent work. She 
can admit of no such folly as this in the day, because 
she is to answer for all her actions at night. When 
there is no wisdom to be observed in the employment of 
lier hands, when there is no useful or charitable work to 
be done, Miranda will work no more. At her table 
she lives strictly by this rule of holy scripture, whether 
ye eat or drink^ or whatsoever ye do^ do all to the glory 
of God. This makes her begin and end cveiy meal, us 
she begins and en;!s every day, with acts of devotion: slic 
cats and drinks only for the sake of living, and with so 
regular an abstinence, that every meal is an exercise 
of self-denial, and she humbles her body, every time 
that she is forced to feed it. If Miranda was to run a 
race for her life, she would submit to a diet that was 
proper for it. But as the race which is set before her, 
is a race of holiness, purity, and heavenly affection, 
which she is to finish in a corrupt, disordered body of 
ctCrthly passions, so her every day diet has only this one 
end, to make her body fitter for this spiritual race. She 
does not weigh her meat in a pair of scales but she 


98 


A SERIOUS CALL TO A 


weighs it in a much better balance; so much as gives a 
proper strength to her body, and renders it able and 
willing to obey the soul, to join in psalms and prayers, 
and lift up eyes and hands towards heaven with greater 
readiness, so much is Miranda’s meal. So that Miran¬ 
da will never have her eyes sw^ell with fatness, or pant 
under a heavy load of flesh, till she has changed her re¬ 
ligion. 

The holy scriptures, especially of the New Testament, 
are her daily study ; these she reads with a watchful 
attention, constantly casting an eye upon herself, and 
trying herself, by every doctrine that is there. When 
she has the New Testament in her hand, she supposes 
herself at the feet of our Saviour and his apostles, and 
makes every thing that she learns of them, so many 
law^s of her life. She receives their sacred words with 
as much attention, and reverence, as if she saw their 
persons, and knew that they were just come from hea¬ 
ven, on purpose to teach her the way that leads to it. 

She thinks, that the trying herself every day by the 
doctrines of scripture, is the only possible way to be 
ready for her trial at the last day. She is sometimes 
afraid that she lays out too much money in books, be¬ 
cause she cannot forbear buying all practical books of 
any note ; especially such as enter into the heart of re¬ 
ligion, and describe the inward holiness of the Christian 
life. But of all human writings the lives of pious per¬ 
sons, and eminent saints, are her greatest delight. In 
these she searches as for hidden treasure, hoping to find 
some secret of holy living, some uncommon degree of 
piety, which she may make her own. By this means 
Miranda has her head and heart stored with all the prin¬ 
ciples of wisdom and holiness, she is so full of the one 
main business of life, that she finds it difficult to con¬ 
verse upon arty other subject; and if you are in her com¬ 
pany, when she thinks proper to talk, you must be made 
wiser and better, whether you will or no. 

To relate her charity, would be to relate the history 
of every day for twenty years; for so long has all her 
fortune been spent that way. She has set up near twenty 
poor tradesmen'that had failed in their business, and 
saved as many from failing. She has educated severa! 


DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 


^0 


poor children, that were picked up in the streets, and 
put them in a way of an honest employment. As soon 
as any labourer is confined at hame with sickness, she 
sends him till he recovers, twice the value of his wages, 
that he may have one part to give to his family, as usu¬ 
al, and the other to provide things convenient for his 
sickness. 

If a family seems too large to be supported by the 
labour of those that can work in it, she pays their rent, 
and gives them something yearly towards their cloth¬ 
ing. By this means there are many poor families that 
live in a comfortable manner, and are from year to year 
blessing her in their prayers. 

If there is any poor man or woman, that is more than 
ordinarily wicked and reprobate, Miranda has her eye 
upon them, she watches their time of need and adver¬ 
sity ; and if she can discover that they are in any great 
straits or affliction, she gives them speedy relief. She 
has this care for this sort of people, because she once 
saved a very profligate person from being carried to pri¬ 
son, who immediately became a true penitent. 

There is nothing in the character of Miranda more 
to be admired, than this tcimper. For this tenderness 
of affection towards the most abandoned sinners, is the 
highest instance of a divine and godlike soul. 

Miranda once passed by a house, where the man and 
his wife were cursing and swearing at one another in a 
most dreadful manner, and three children crying about 
them ; this sight so much affected h6r compassionate 
mind, that she went the next day, and bought the three 
children, tliat they might not be ruined by living with 
such wicked parents ; they now live with Miranda, are 
blessed with her care and prayers; and all the good works 
Avhich she can do for them. They hear her talk, they 
see her live, they join with her in psalms and prayers. 
The eldest of them has already converted his parents 
from their wicked life, and shews a turn of mind so re¬ 
markably pious, that Miranda intends him for holy or¬ 
ders : that being thus saved himself, he may be zealous 
in the salvation of souls, and do to other miserable ob¬ 
jects, as she has done to him. 

Miranda is a constant relief to poor people in their 


A SERIOUS CALL TO A 


misfortunes and accidents ; there are sometimes little 
misfortunes that happen to them, which of themselves 
they could never be able to overcome. The death of a 
cow, or a horse, or some little robbery, would keep them 
in distress all their lives. She does not suffer them to 
grieve under such accidents as these. She immediately 
gives them the full value of their loss, and makes use 
of it as a means of raising their minds towards God. 

She has a great tenderness for old people that arc 
grown past their labour. The parish allowance to such 
people, is very seldom a comfortable maintenance. For 
this reason, they are the constant objects of her care ; 
she adds so much to their allowance, as somewhat ex^ 
ceeds the wages they got when they were young. This 
she does to comfort the infirmities of their age, that 
being free from trouble and distress they may serve 
God in peace and tranquillity of mind. She has gene¬ 
rally a large number of this kind, who by her charities 
and exhortations to holiness, spend their last days in 
great piety and devotion. 

Miranda never wants compassion, even to common 
beggars ; especially towards those that are old or sick, 
or full of sores, that want eyes or limbs. She hears 
their cornplaints rvith tenderness, gives them some proof 
of her kindness, and never rejects them with hard, or 
reproachful language, for fear of adding affliction to her 
fcllQw-crcatures. 

If a poor traveller tells her, that he has neither 
strength, nor food, nor money left, she never bids him 
go to the place from whence he came, or tells him, that 
she cannot relieve him, because he may be a cheat, or 
she does not know him ; but she relieves him for that 
reason, because he is a stranger, and unknown to her. 
For it is the most noble part of charity, to be kind and 
tender to those whom we never sa^v before, and per¬ 
haps never may see again in this life. I wa.i a stvan^n'i' 
and ys took me in, our blessed Saviour; but who 
can perform this duty, that will not relieve persons that 
are unknown to Iiim ? 

Miranda considers, that Lazarus was a common be<^- 
gar, that he was the care of angels, and carried into 
Abraham's bosom. She considers, that oqr blessed Sa- 


DEVODT AND HOLY LIFE. 


lOi 


viour, and his apostles, were kind to beggars ; that they 
spoke comfortably to them, healed their diseases, and 
restored eyes and limbs to the lame and blind. That 
Peter said to the beggar that wanted an alms from him, 
Silver and gold have I none^ but such as I have give 1 
thee ; in the name of Jesus Christ of A'azarethy rise ufi 
and nvalk. Miranda, therefore, never treats beggars 
with disregard and aversion, but she imitates the kind¬ 
ness of our Saviour and his apostles towards them ; and 
though she cannot, like them, work miracles for their re¬ 
lief, yet she relieves them with that power that she hath ; 
and may sav with the apostle. Such as I have give I thety 
in the name of Jesus Christ. 

It may be, says Miranda, that I may often give to those 
that do not deserve it, or that will make an ill use ot 
my alms. But what then ? Is not this the very method 
of divine goodness ? Does not God make his sun to rise 
on the evily and on the good ? Is not this the very good¬ 
ness that is recommended to us in scripture, that by mi- 
itating of it, we may be children of our Father which is 
in heaven, nvho sendeth rain on the just, and on the 
unjust ? And shall I withhold a little money or lood, 
from my fellow creature, fbr fear he should not be good 
enough to receive it of me ? Do I beg of God to deal 
with me, not according to my merit, but according to his 
own great goodness ; and shall I be so absurd, as to with¬ 
hold my claarity from a poor brother, because he ma>- 
perhaps not deserve it ? Shall I use a measure towards 
him, which I pray God never to use towards me . 

Besides, where has the scripture made merit the rule 
or measure of charity ? On the contrary, the scripture 
saith, If thy enemy hunger, feed him ; ij he thirst, give 


him drink. , c 

Now this plainly teaches us, that tne merits of persons 

is to be no rule of our charity, but that we are to do acts 
of kindness to those that least of all deserve it. For if I 
am to love and to do good to my worst enemies ; it I am 
to be charitable to them, notwithstanding all their spite 
and malice, surely merit is no measure of charity. It 
I am not to withhold my charity from such bad people, 
and who are at the same time enemies, surely . am 

I 2 


IG2 


A SERIOUS CALL to A 


not to deny alms to poor beggars, whom I neither know 
^o be bad people, nor any way my enemies. 

You will perhaps say, that by this means I encouratrc 
people to be beggars. But the same thoughtless objec-- 
tion may be made against all kinds of charities, for they 
may encourage people to depend upon them. The same 
may be said against forgiving our enemies, for it may 
encourage people to do us hurt. The same may be 
said even against the goodness of God, that by pouring 
his blessing on the evil and on the good, on the just, and 
on the unjust, evil and unjust men are encouraged in 
their wicked ways. The same may be said against 
clothing the naked, or giving medicines to the sick, for 
that may encourage people to neglect themselves, and be 

dwelleth in you ; when it has enlarged your heart, and- 
filled you with bowels of mercy and compassion, you will 
make no more such objections as these 

away the poor, the 

old, the sick and helpless traveller, the lame or tL blind, 
ask yourself this question ; Do I sincerely wish these 
poor creatures may be as happy as Lazarus, that was 
can ledBy angels into Abraham’s bosom ? Do I sincerely 
desire that God would make them fellow-heirs with me 

willtid i^yo>iaearchinto your s^u , y'^ 

will find that there is none of these motimis there that 
you are wishing nothing of this. For it is impossib e foi- 
any one heartily to wish a poor creature so greaTa han- 
piness, and yet not have a heart to give him a small alms 
1 or this reason, says Miranda, as far as I can, I give to 
all, because I pray to God to forgive all; and llamiot 
refuse an alms to those, whom I pray to God to bless 
wnom I wish to be partakers of eternal glory; but am 
glad to shew some degree of love to such L T 
will be the objects of Ae infinite'lole 0 ^^;^.^’ indTf 

t/ an ^0 7 ecezve, we ought to look upon those that ask^our 
alms, as so many friends and benefactors, that come to do 
us a greater good than they can receive, that come to exalt 
our virtue, to be witnesses of our charitv to l ^ 
ments of our love, to be our advocates ^^h ^ 
to us in Christ’s stead, to appear for us at the’dav of 


DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. IO 5 

judgment, and to help us to a blessedness greater than 
our alms can bestow on them. 

This is the spirit, and this is the life of the devout 
Miranda ; and if she lives ten years longer, she will have 
spent sixty hundred pounds in charity, for that which she 
allows herself, may fairly be reckoned amongst her alms. 

VV hen she dies she must shine amongst apostles, and 
saints, and martyrs, she must stand amongst the first 
servants of God, and be glorious amongst those tliat 
have fought the good fight, and finished their course 
with joy. 


CHAP. IX. 

Containing some refections on the life of Miranda • 
and shewing how it may, and ought to be imitated bu 
all her sex. ^ 

NOW this life of Miranda, which I heartily recom¬ 
mend to the imitation of her sex, however contrary it 
may seem to the way and fashion of the world, is yet 
suitable to the true spirit, and founded upon the plainest 
doctrines of Christianity. 

To live as she does, is as truly suitable to the gospel 
oi Christ, as to be baptised or receive the sacrament! 

Her spirit is that, which animated the saints of for¬ 
mer ages ; and it is because they lived as she does, that 
we now celebrate their memories, and praise God for 
their examples. 

There is nothing that is whimsical, trifling, or unrea¬ 
sonable in her character; but every thing is there de¬ 
scribed, in a right and proper instance of a solid and 
real piety. 

It is as easy to shew, that it is whimsical to go to 
church, or to say ones prayers, as that it is whimsical 
to observe any ot these rules of life. For all Miranda's 
rules oMiving unto God, of spending her time and for¬ 
tune, of eating, working, dressing and conversing, are 
as substantial parts of a reasonable and holy life, as de¬ 
votion and prayer. 


104 


A SERIOUS CALL TO A 

For there is nothing to be said for the wisdom of so¬ 
briety, the wisdom of devotion, the wisdom of charity, or 
the wisdom of humility, but what is as good an argu¬ 
ment for the wise and reasonable use of apparel. 

Neither can any thing be said against tlm folly of lux¬ 
ury, the folly of sensuality, the folly of extravagance, 
the folly of prodigality, the folly of ambition, of idleness, 
or indulgence, but wliat must be said against the folly 
of dress. For religion is as deeply concerned in the one 
as in the other. . , 

If you may be vain in one thing, you may be vain in 
every thing; for one kind of vanity only differs* from 
another, as one kind of intemperance differs from another. 

If you spend your fortune in the needless vain finery 
of dress, you cannot condemn prodigality, or extrava¬ 
gance, or luxury, without condemning yourself. 

If you fancy that it is your only folly, and that there¬ 
fore there can be no great matter in it; you are like 
those that think they are only guilty of the tolly of co¬ 
vetousness, or the folly of ambition. Now though some 
people may live so plausible a life, as to appear charge¬ 
able with no other fault, than that of covetousness or 
ambition ; yet the case is not as it appears, for covetous¬ 
ness or ambition cannot subsist in a heart that is in other 
respects rightly devoted to God, 

In like manner, though some people may spend most 
that they have in needless expensive ornaments of dress, 
and yet seem to be in every other respect truly pious, 
yet it is certainly false ; for it is as impossible for a mind 
that is in a true state of religion, to be vain in the use of 
clothes, as to be vain in the use of alms, or devotions* 
Now to convince you of this fi om your own reflections, 
let us suppose that some eminent saint, as for instance, 
that the holy Virgin Mary was sent into the world, to 
be again in a state of trial for a few years, and that you 
was going to her, to be edified by her great piety; would 
you expect to find her dressed out and adorned in fine 
and expensive clothes ? No : you would know in your 
own mind, that it was as impossible, as to find her learn¬ 
ing to dance. Do but add saint, or holy to any person, 
either man or woman, and your own mind tells you im¬ 
mediately, that such a character cannot admit of the 


105 


DliVOUT AND HOLY, life. 

vanity of tine apparel. A saint genteelly dressed, is as 
great nonsense, as an apostle in an embroidered suit; 
every one’s own natural sense convinces him of the in¬ 
consistency of these things. 

Now what is the reason, that when you think of a 
saint or eminent servant of God, you cannot admit of the 
vanity of apparel ? Is it not because it is inconsistent 
W'ith such a right state of heart, such true and exalted 
piety ? And is not this therefore a demonstration, that 
where such vanity is admitted, there a right state of 
heart, true and exalted piety must needs be wanted? 
For as certainly as the holy Virgin Mary could not in¬ 
dulge herself, or conform to the vanity of the world in 
dress and figure ; so certain is it, that none can indulge 
themselves in this vanity, but those who want her piety 
of heart; and consequently it must be owned, that all 
needless and expensive finery of dress, is the eftect of a 
disordered heart, tliat is not governed by the true spirit 
of religion. 

Covetousness is nota crime, because there is any harm 
in gold or silver, but because it supposes a foolish and 
unreasonable state of mind, that is fallen from its true 
good, and sunk into such a poor and wretched satisfaction. 

In like manner, the expensive finery of dress, is nota 
crime, because there is any thing good or evil in clothes, 
but because the expensive ornaments of clothing siicws 
a foolish and unreasonable state of heart, that is fallen 
from right notions of human nature, that abuses the end 
of clothing, and turns the necessities of life into so 
many instances of pride and folly. 

All the world agree in condemning remarkable fops. 
Now what is the reason of it ? Is it because there is any 
thing sinful in their particular dress, or affected man¬ 
ners ? No : but it is because all people know, that it 
shews the state of a man’s mind, and that it is impossible 
for so ridiculous an outside to have any thing wise or 
reasonable, or good within. And indeed to suppose a 
fop of great piety, is as much nonsense, as to suppose a 
coward ot great courage. So that all the world agree in 
owning, that the use and manner of clothes is a mark of 
the state of a man’s mind, and consequently that it is a 
thing highly essential to religion. But then it should bt? 


1‘06 


A SERIOtS CALL TO A 


well considered, that as it is not only the sot that is guilty 
of intemperance, but every one that transgresses the 
right and religious measures of eating and drinking: 
so it should be considered, that it is not only the fop 
that is guilty of the vanity and abuse of dress, but every 
one that departs from the reasonable and religious ends, 
of clothing. 

As therefore every argument against sottishness, is 
as good an argument against all kinds of intemperance j 
so every argument against the vanity of fops, is as good 
an argument against all vanity and abuse of dress. For 
they are all of the same kind, and only differ, as one de¬ 
gree of intemperance may differ from another. She that 
only paints a little, may as justly accuse another, because 
she paints a great deal; as she that uses but a common 
finery of dress, accuses another that is excessive in her 
finery. 

For as in the matter of temperance, there is no rule 
but the sobriety, that is according to the doctrines and 
spirit of our religion ; so in the matter of apparel, there 
is no rule to be observed, but such a right use of clothes, 
as is strictly according to the doctrines and spirit of our 
religion. ^ To pretend to make the way of the w^orld our 
measure in these things, is as weak and absurd, as to 
make the way of the world the measure of our sobriety, 
abstinence, or humility. It is a pretence that is exceed¬ 
ingly absurd in the mouths of Christians, who are to be 
so far from conforming to the fashions of this life, that 
to have overcome the world, is made an essential mark 
pf Christianity. 

This therefore is the way that you are to judge of the 
crime of vain apparel: you are to consider it as an of¬ 
fence against the proper use of clothes, as covetousness 
is an oftence against the proper use of money; you arc 
to consider it as an indulgence of proud and unreasonable 
tempers, as an offence against the humility and sobriety 
of the Christian spirit; you are to consider it as an of¬ 
fence against all those doctrines that require you to do 
all to the glory of God, that require you to make a right 
use of your talents ; you are to consider it as an offence 
against all those texts of scripture, that command you 
to love your neighbour as yourself, to feed the hungry 


DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFB. lO; 

to clothe the naked, and do all works of charity that yoO 
arc able : so that you must not deceive yourself with 
saying, where can be the harm of clothes ? for tlie covet¬ 
ous man might as well say, where can be the harm of 
gold or silver ? but you must consider, that it is a great 
deal of harm to want that wise, and reasonable, and 
humble state of heart, which is according to the spirit 
of religion, and which no one can have in the manner 
that he ought to have it, who indulges himself either in 
the vanity of dress, or the desire of riches. 

There is therefore nothing right in the use of clothes, 
or in the use of any thing else in the world, but the 
plainness and simplicity of the gospel. Every other use 
of things (however polite and fashionable in the world) 
distracts and disorders the heart, and is inconsistent wilii 
that inward state of piety, that purity of heart, that wis¬ 
dom of mind, and regularity of affection, wliich Christi¬ 
anity requireth. 

If you w'ould be a good Christian, there is but one 
way, you must live wholly unto God, you must live ac¬ 
cording to the wisdom that comes from God ; you must 
act according to the right judgments of the nature and 
value of things ; you must live in tiie exercise of holy 
and heavenly affections, and use all the gifts of God to 
his praise and glory. 

Some persons perhaps, who admire the purity and 
perfection of this life of Miranda, may say, how can it 
be proposed as a common example ? How can wt who 
are married, or we who are under tne direction of our 
parents, imitate such a life. 

It is answered, just as you may imitate the life of our 
blessed Saviour and his apostles. Tne circumstances 
of our Saviour’s life, and the state and condition of his 
apostles, was more different from yours tnan that of 
Miranda’s is; and yet their life, the purity and perfec¬ 
tion of their behaviour, is the common example that is 
proposed to all Christians. 

It is their spirit therefore, their piety, their love of 
God, that you are to imitate, and not the particular form 
of their life. 

•Act under God as they did, direct your common ac¬ 
tions to that end which they did, glorify your proper 


108 


A SERIOUS CALL TO A 


state with such love of God, such charity to your neigh" 
hour, such humility and self-denial, as they did; and 
tlien, though you are only teaching your own children, 
and St. Paul is converting whole nations, yet you are 
following his steps, and acting after his example. 

Do not think therefore, that you cannot or need not 
be like Miranda, because you are not in her state of life ; 
for as the same spirit and temper would have made 
Miranda a saint, though she had been forced to labour 
for a maintenance, so if you will but aspire after her 
spirit and temper, every form and condition of life will 
furnish you with sufficient means of employing it. 

Miranda is what she is, because she does every thing 
in the name, and with regard to her duty to God ; and 
when you do the same, you will be exactly like her, 
though you are never so different from her in the out¬ 
ward state of your life. 

You are married, you say; therefore you have not 
your time and fortune in your power as she has. 

It is very true; and therefore you cannot spend so 
much time, nor so much money, in the manner that she 
does. 

But now Miranda's perfection does not consist in this, 
that she spends so much time, or so much money in such 
a manner, but that she is careful to make the best use 
of all that time, and all that fortune, which God has put 
into her hands. Do you therefore make the best use 
of all that time and money which is in your disposal, 
and then you are like Miranda. 

If she has two hundred pounds a year, and you have 
only two mites, have you not the more reason to be ex¬ 
ceeding exact in the wisest use of it ? If she has a deal 
of time, and you have but a little, ought you not to be the 
more watchful and circumspect, lest that little should 
be lost ? 

You say if you was to imitate the cleanly plainness 
and cheapness ot her dress, you should offend your hus¬ 
bands. ^ 

First, Be very sure that this is true, before you make 
It an excuse. 

Secondly, If your husbands do really require you to 
patch your faces, to expose your breasts naked, and to be 


DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 


tine and expensive in all your apparel, then take these 
two resolutions : 

First, to forbear from all this, as soon as your hus¬ 
bands will permit you. 

Secondly, to use your utmost endeavours to recom¬ 
mend yourselves to their affections by such solid virtues, 
as may correct the vanity of their minds, and teach tticm 
to love you for such qualities, as will make you amiable 
in the sight of God and his holy angels. 

As to this doctrine concerning the plainness and mo¬ 
desty of dress, it may perhaps be thought by some to be 
sufficiently confuted by asking, whether all persons are 
to be clothed in the same manner ? 

These questions are generally put by those, who had 
rather perplex the plainest truths, than be obliged to fol¬ 
low them. 

Let it be supposed, that I had recommended an uni¬ 
versal plainness of diet. Is it not a thing sufficiently 
reasonable to be universally recommended ? But would 
it thence follow, that the nobleman and the labourer 
were to live upon the same food ? 

Suppose I had pressed an universal temperance, does 
not religion enough justify such a doctrine ? But \\ould 
it therefore follow, that all people were to drink the 
same liquors, and in the same quantity ? 

In like manner, though plainness and sobriety of dress ^ 
is recommended to all, yet it does by no means follow, 
that all are to be clothed in the same manner. 

Now what is the particular rule with regard to tem¬ 
perance ? How shall particular persons, that use difler- 
ent liquors, and in different quantities, preserve their 
temperance ? 

Is not this the rule ? Are they not to guard against 
indulgence, to make their use of liquors a matter oi con¬ 
science, and allow of no refreshments, but such as arc 
consistent with the strictest rules of Christian sobriety ? 

Now transf’er this rule to the matter of apparel, and 
all questions about it arc answered. 

Let every one but guard against the vanity of dress, 
let them but make their use of clothes a matter of con¬ 
science, let them but desire to make the best use of their 
money, and then every one has a rule that is sufficient 
K 


A SERIOUS CALL TO A 


ilO 

to direct them in every state of life. This rule will no 
more let the great be vain in their dress, than intempe¬ 
rate in their liquors ; and yet will leave it as lawful to 
have some difference in their drink. 

But now will you say, that you may use the finest 
richest wines, when and as you please, that you may be 
as expensive in them as you have a mind, because differ¬ 
ent liquors are allowed ? If not, how can it be said, that 
you may use clothes as you please, and wear the richest 
things you can get, because tne bare difference of clothes 
is lawful ? 

For as the lawfulness of different liquors leaves no 
room, nor any excuse, for the smallest degree of intem¬ 
perance in drinking; so the lawfulness of different ap¬ 
parel leaves no room, nor any excuse, for the smallest 
degrees of vanity, in dress. 

To ask what is vanity in dress, is no more a puzzling 
question, than to ask, what is intemperance in drinking. 
And though religion does not here state the particular 
measure for all individuals, yet it gives such ^neral 
rules as are a sufficient direction in every state of' life. 

He that lets religion teach him, that the end of drink¬ 
ing is only so far to refresh our spirits, as to keep us in 
good health, and make soul and body fitter for all the 
offices of a holy and pious life, and that he is to desire 
to glorify God by a right use of this liberty, will always 
know what intemperance is, in his particular state. 

So he that lets religion teach him, that the end of 
clothing is only to hide our shame and nakedness, and 
to secure our bodies from the injuries of weather, and 
that he is to desire to glorify God by a sober and wise 
use of this necessary, will always know what vanity of 
dress is, in his particular state. 

And he that thinks it a needless nicety, to talk of the 
religious use of apparel, has as much reason to think it a 
needless nicety, to talk of the religious use of liquors. 
For luxury and indulgence in dress, is as great an abusej 
ns luxury and indulgence in eating and drinking. And 
there is no avoiding either of them, but by making re¬ 
ligion the strict measure of our allowance in both cases. 
\nd there is nothing in religion to excite a imn to this 


DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 


11 ] 


pious exactness in one case, but what is as good a motive 
to the same exactness in the other. 

Farther, as all things that are lawful, arc not therefore 
expedient; so there are some tilings lawful in the use 
of iiciuors and apparel, which by abstaining from them 
for pious ends, may be made means of great perfection. 

Thus for instance, if a man should deny himself such 
use of liquors as is lawful; if he should refrain from 
such expense in his drink as might be allowed without 
sin ; if he should do this, not only for the sake of a more 
pious self-denial, but that he might be able to relieve 
and refresh the helpless, poor and sick. 

If another should abstain from the use of that which 
is lawful in dress; if he should be more frugal and mean 
in his habit, than the necessities of religion absolutely 
require ; if he should do this not only as a means of a 
better humility, but that he may be more able to clothe 
other people ; these persons might be said to do that 
which was highly suitable to the true spirit, though not 
absolutely required by the letter of the law of Christ. 

For if those who give a cup of cold water to a disciple 
of Christ, shall not lose their reward, how dear must 
they be to Christ, who often give themselves water, that 
they may be able to give wine to the sick and languish¬ 
ing members of Christ’s body I 

But to return. All that has been here said to mar¬ 
ried women, may serve for the same instruction to such 
as are still under the direction of their parents. 

Now though the obedience which is due to parents 
does not oblige them to carry their virtues any higher 
than their parents require them ; yet their obedience 
requires them to subm:‘ to their direction in all things 
pot contrary to the laws of God. 

If therefore, your parents require you to live more in 
the fashion and conversation of the world, or to be more 
expensive in your dress and person, or to dispose of your 
time otherwise than suits with your desires after greater 
perfection, you must submit, and bear it as your cross, 
till you are at liberty to follow the higher counsels of 
Christ, and have it in your power to choose the best tvays 
of raising your virtue to its greatest height. 

Now although whilst you are in this state, you may be 


A SERIOtJS CALL TO A 


m 

oblij^ed to forego some means of improving your virtue, 
yet there are some others to be found in it, that are not 
to be had in a life of more liberty. 

For if in this state, where obedience is so great a vir¬ 
tue, you comply in all things lawful, out of a pious, ten¬ 
der sense of duty ; then those things which you thus per¬ 
form, are, instead of being hindrances of your virtue, 
turned into means of improving it. 

What you lose by being restrained from such things, 
as you would choose to observe, you gain by that excel¬ 
lent virtue of obedience, in humbly complying against 
your temper. 

Now what is here granted, is only in things lawful; 
and tnerefore the diversion of our English stage is here 
excepted ; being elsewhere proved, as I think, to be 
absolutely unlawful. 

Tons much to shew, how persons under the direc¬ 
tion of others, may imitate the wise and pious life of Mi¬ 
randa. 

But as for those who are altogether in their own hands, 
if the liberty of their states makes them covet the best 
gifts, if it carries them to choose the most excellent 
ways, if they, having all in their power, should turn 
the whole form of their life into a regular exercise of 
the highest virtues, happy are they who have so learned 
Christ! 

AH persons, cannot receive this saying. They that 
are ready to^ receive it, let them receive it, and bless 
that spirit of God which has put such good motions into 
their ncarts. 

God may be served and glorified in every stale of life. 
But as there are some states of life more desirable than 
otiiers,that more purify our natures, that more improve 
our virtues, and dedicate us unto God in a higher man¬ 
ner ; so those, who arc at liberty to choose for them¬ 
selves, seem to be called by God to be more eminently’'- 
devoted to his service. 

Ever since the beginning of Christianity, there has 
been two orders or ranks of people amongst good Chris¬ 
tians. 

The one that feared and served God in the common 
offices of a secular worldly lifc» 


DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 1J 

The other renouncing the common business and com¬ 
mon enjoyments of life, as riches, marriage, honours, 
and pleasures, devoted themselves to voluntary poverty, 
virginity, devotion, and retirement, that by this means 
they might live wholly unto God in the daily exercise 
of a divine and heavenly life. 

This testimony I have from the famous cclesiastlcal 
historian, Eusebius, who lived at the time of the first 
general council, when the faith of our Nicene creed was 
established, when the church was in its greatest glory 
and purity, when its bishops were so many holy fathers 
and eminent saints. 

“ Therefore, saith he, there hath been instituted in 
the church of Christ, two ways, or manners of living. 
The one raised above the ordinary state of nature, and 
common ways of living, rejects v/edlock, possessions, 
and worldly goods, and being wholly separate and re¬ 
moved from the ordinary conversation of common life, 
is appropriated and devoted solely to the worship and 
service of God, through an exceeding degree of hea¬ 
venly love. 

“ They who are of this order of people, seem dead to 
the life of this world, and having their bodies only upon 
earth, arc in their minds and contemplations dwelling In 
heaven. From whence, like many heavenly inhabitants, 
they look down upon human life, making intercessions 
and oblations to almighty God for the -wdiolc race of 
mankind. And this not with the blowl of beasts, or the 
fat, or smoke, and burning of bodies, but with the high¬ 
est exercises of true piety, with cleansed and purified 
hearts, and with an whole form of life strictly devoted 
to virtue. These are their sacrifices, which they are 
continually offering unto God, to implore his mercy and 
favour for themscives, and their fellow-creatures. 

Christianity receives this as the perfect manner of 

life. 

“ The other is of a lower form, and suiting itself 
more to the condition of human nature, admits of chaste 
wedlock, and care of children and family, of trade and 
business, and goes through all the employments of life 
under a sense of piety, and fear of God. 

‘‘ Now they who have chosen this manner of life, liavc 
K 2 


114 


A SERIOUS CAUL TO A 


their set times for retirement and spiritual exercises, and 
particular days are set apart for their hearing and learn~ 
ing the word of God. And this order of people are 
considered, as in the second state of piety.’* Euseb. 
Dem. Evan. /. 1 c. 8*. 

Thus this learned historian. 

If therefore persons of either sex, moved with the life 
of Miranda, and desirous of perfection, should unite 
themselves into little societies, professing voluntary po¬ 
verty, virginity, retirement and devotion, Irving upon 
bare necessaries, that some might be relieved by their 
charities, and all be blessed with their prayers, and bene- 
fitted by their example; or if for want of this, they should 
practise the same manner of life, in as high a degree as 
they could by themselves; such persons would be so 
far from being chargeable with any superstition, or blind 
devotion, that they might be justly said to restore that 
piety, which was the boast and glory of the church, 
when its greatest saints were alive. 

Now as this learned historian observes, that it was au 
exceeding great degree of heavenly love, that carried 
these persons so much above the common ways of life, 
to such an eminent state of holiness; so it is not to be 
Wondered at, that the religion of Jesus Christ should 
fill the hearts of many Christians with this high degree 
of love. 

For a religion that opens such a scene of glory, that 
discovers things so infinitely above all the world, that 
so triumphs over death, that assures ns of such man¬ 
sions of bliss, where we shall so soon be as the angels 
of God in heaven j what wonder is it, if such a religion, 
such truths and expectations, should in some holy souls, 
destroy all earthly desires, and make the ardent love of 
heavenly things, be the one continual passion of their 
hearts ? 

If the religion of Christians is founded upon the infi¬ 
nite humiliation, the cruel mockings and scourgings, 
the prodigious sufferings, the poor, persecuted life, and 
painful death of a crucified son of God ; what wonder 
is it, if many humble adorers of this profound mystery, 
many affectionate lovers of a crucified Lord, should re¬ 
nounce their share of worldly pleasures, and give them* 


DEVOUT AND ilOLY LIFE. 


115 


selves up to a continual course of mortification, and self- 
denial : that thus suffcrini^ with Christ here, they may 
rei^n with him hereafter ? 

If truth itself hath assured us, that there is but one 
thing needful^ wdiat wonder is it, that there should be 
some amongst Christians so full of faith, as to believe this 
in the highest sense of the word, and to desire such a 
separation from the world, that their care and attention 
to the one thing needful may not be interrupted ? 

If our blessed Lord hath said. If thou wilt be perfect^ 
go and sell that thou hast, and give to the fioor, and thou 
shalt have treasure in heaven : and come and follow me : 
what wonder is it, that there should be amongst Chris¬ 
tians, some such zealous follow'ers of Chiist, so intent 
upon heavenly treasure, so desirous of perfection, that 
they should renounce the enjoyment of their estates, 
choose a voluntary poverty, and relieve all the poor that 
they are able ? 

If the chosen vessel, St. Paul, hath said. He that is 
unmarried careth for the things that belong to the Lord, 
how he may please the Lord ; and that there is this dif¬ 
ference also between a wife and a virgin ; the unmarried 
woman careth for the things of the Lord, that she may be 
holy both in body and spirit : what wonder is it, if the pu¬ 
rity and perfection of the virgin slate, hath been the praise 
and glory of the church in its first and purest ages ? 

That there hath always been some so desirous of 
pleasing God, so zealous after every degree of purity 
and perfection, so glad of every means of improving 
their virtue, that they have renounced the comforts and 
enjoyments of wedlock, to trim their lamps, to purify 
their souls, and wait upon God in a state of perpetual 
virginity ? 

And if now in these cur days, we w'ant examples of 
these several degrees of perfection ; if neither clergy 
nor laiety are enough of this spirit; if we arc so far de¬ 
parted from it, that a man seems, like St. Paul at Athens, 
a setter forth of strange doctrines, when he recommends 
^elf-denial, renunciation of the world, regular devotion, 
retirement, virginity, and voluntary poverty, it is because 
we are fallen into an age, w'here the love not only of 
many, but of most, is waxed cold. 


116 


A SERIOUS CALL TO A 


I have made this little appeal to antiquity, and quoted 
these few passages of scripture, to support some uncom¬ 
mon practices in the life of Miranda : and to shew, that 
her highest rules of holy living, her devotion, self-denial, 
renunciation of the world, her charity, virginity, and 
voluntary poverty, are founded in the sublimest counsels 
of Christ and his apostles, suitable to the high expec¬ 
tations of another life, proper instances of a heavenly 
love, and all followed by the greatest saints of the best 
and purest ages of the church. 

He that hath ears to hear, let him hear. 


CHAP. X. 

Shewing how all orders and ranks of men and women of 
all ages, are obliged to devote themselves unto God. 

I HAVE in the foregoing chapters gone through 
the several great instances of Christian devotion, and 
shewn that all the parts of our common life, our em¬ 
ployments, our talents and gifts of fortune, are all to be 
made holy and acceptable onto God, by a wise and reli¬ 
gious use of every thing, and by directing our actions 
and designs to such ends as are suitable to the honour 
and glory of God. 

I shall now shew, that this regularity of devotion, this 
holiness of common life, this religious use of every thing 
that we have, is a devotion that is the duty of all orders 
of Christian people. 

Fulvitis has had a learned education, and taken his 
degrees in the university, he came from thence, that he 
might be free from any rules of life. He takes no em¬ 
ployment upon him, nor enters into any business, be¬ 
cause he thinks that every employment or business, calls 
people to the careful performance and discharge of its 
several duties. When he is grave, he will tell you that 
he did not enter into holy orders, because he looks upon 
it to be a state, that requires great holiness of life, and 
that it does not suit his temper to be so good. He will 
tell you that he never intends to marry, because he 
cannot oblige himself to that regularity of life, and 


DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 


X17 


good behaviour, which he takes to be the duty of those 
that are at the head of a family. He refused to be god¬ 
father to his nephew, because he will have no trust of 
any kind to answer for. 

Fulvius thinks that he is conscientious in this conduct, 
and is therefore content with the most idle, impertinent 
and careless life. 

He has no religion, no devotion, no pretences to piety. 
He lives by no rules, and thinks all is very well, because 
he is neither a priest nor a father, nor a guardian, nor 
has any employment or family to look after. 

But Fulvius, you are a rational creature, and as such, 
are as much obliged to live acrording to reason and or¬ 
der as a priest is obliged to attend at the altar, or a 
guardian to be faithful to his trust; if you live contrary 
to reason, you do not commit a small crime, you do not 
break a small trust; but you break the law of your na¬ 
ture, you rebel against God who gave you that nature, 
and put yourself amongst those whom the God of rea¬ 
son and order will punish as apostates and deserters. 

Though you have no employment, yet as you are 
baptized into the profession of Christ’s religion, you are 
as much obliged to live according to the holiness of the 
Christian spirit, and perform all the promises made at 
your baptism, as any man is obliged to be honest and 
faithful in his calling. If you abuse this great calling, 
you are not false in a small matter, but you abuse the 
precious blood of Christ; you crucify the son of God 
afresh ; you neglect the highest instances of divine good¬ 
ness ; you disgrace the church of God ; you blemish the 
body of Christ; you abuse the means of grace, and the 
promises of glory ; and it will be more tolerable for 'Fyre 
a?id Sidon in the day of judgment than for you. 

It is therefore great folly, for any one to think him¬ 
self at liberty to live as he pleases, because he is not in 
such a state of life as some others are ; for if there is 
any thing dreadful in the abuse of any trust; if there 
is any thing to be feared for the neglect of any calling, 
there is nothing more to be feared than the wrong use of 
our reason, nor any thing more to be dreaded, than the 
neglect of our Christian calling ; which is not to servo 
the little uses of a §hort life, but to, redeem soyls unto 


118 


A SERIOUS CALL TO A 


God, to fill heaven with saints, and finish a kingdom ot 
eternal glory unto God. 

No man therefore must think himself excused from 
the exactness of piety and morality, because he has 
chosen to be idie and independent in the world ; for the 
necessities of a reasonable and holy life, are not founded 
in the several conditions and employments of this life, 
but in the immutable nature of God, and the nature of 
man. A man is not to be reasonable and holy, because 
he is a priest, or a father of a family ; but he is to be a 
pious priest, and a good father, because piety and good¬ 
ness are the laws of human nature. Could any man 
please Gi.'d, without living according to reason and order, 
there would be nothing displeasing to God in an idle 
priest, or a reprobate father. He therefore that abuses 
his reason, is like him that abuses the priesthood ; and 
he that 1 g ects the holiness of the Christian life, is as 
the iuai> faat disregards the most important trust. 

If man was to choose to put out his eyes, rather 
than enjoy the light, and see the works of God; if he 
should voluntarily kill himself, by refusing to eat and 
drink, every one would own, that such a one was a rebel 
against God, that justly deserved his highest indignation. 
You would not say, that this was only sinful in a priest, 
or a master of a family, but in every man as such. 

Now wherein does the sinfulness of this behaviour 
consist ? Does it not consist in this, that he abuses his 
nature, and refuses to act that part for \yhich God had 
crcai,ed him ? But if this be true, then all persons that 
abuse th nr reason, that act a different part from that 
for which Goa created them, are iike this man, rebels 
against God, and on the same account subject to his 
wrath. 

^ Let us suppose, that this man, instead of putting out 
his eyes, liad only employed them in looking at ridicu¬ 
lous things, or shut them up in a sleep ; that instead of 
starving himself to death, by not eating at all, he should 
turn every meal into a feast, and eat and drink like an 
epicure ; could he be said to have lived more to the 
glory of God ? could he any more be said to act the part 
for which God had created him, than if he had put out. 
his eyes, and starved himself to death ? 


DEVOUT AND HOLY lire. 


115 


Now do but suppose a man acting unreasonably; do 
but suppose him exting;uisi'.ing his reason, instead of 
putting out his eyes ; and living in a couise of folly and 
impertinence, instead of starving himselt to deatii; and 
then you have found out as great a rebel against God. 

For he that puts out his eyes, or muruers himself, 
has only this guilt, that he abuses the powers that God 
has given him * that he refuses to act that pan for vvuich 
he was created, and puts himself into a state that is con¬ 
trary to the divine will. And surely this is the gu it of 
every one that lives an unreasonable, unholy, and foolish 
life. 

As therefore, no particular state, or private life, is an 
excuse for the abuse of our bodies, or self-murder; so 
no particular state, or private life, is an excuse for the 
abuse of our reason, or the neglect of the holiness of the 
Christian religion. For surely it is as much the will of 
God, that we should make the best use of our rational 
faculties, that we should conform to the pinityand holi¬ 
ness of Christianity, as it is the will of Goci, tnat we 
should use our eyes, and eat and drink for the preserva¬ 
tion of our lives. 

Till therefore a man can shew, that he sincerely en¬ 
deavours to live according to the will of God, to be that 
which God requires him to be ; till he can shew, that he 
is striving to live according to the holiness of the Chris¬ 
tian religion ; whosoever he be, or wheresoever he be, lie 
has all that to answer for, that they have who refuse to 
live, who abuse the greatest trusts, and neglect the high¬ 
est calling in the world. 

Every body acknowledges, that all orders of men are 
to be equally and exactly honest and faithful; there is no 
exception to be made in these duties, for any private or 
particular state of life. Now if we would but attend to 
the reason and nature of things ; if we would but con¬ 
sider the nature of God, and the nature of man, we 
should find the same necessity for every other right use 
of our reason, for every grace, or religious temper of 
the Christian life: we should find it as absurd to sup¬ 
pose, that one man must be exact in piety, and another 
need not, as to suppose that one man must be exact in 
honesty, but another need not. For Christian humility. 


m 


SERIOUS CALL TO A 


sobriety, devotion, and piety, are as great and necessary 
parts of a reasonable life, as justice and honesty. 

And on the other hand, pride, sensuality and covetous - 
ness, are as great disorders of the soul, are as high an 
abuse of our reason, and as contrary to God, as cheating 
and dishonesty. 

Theft and dishonesty seem indeed, to vulgar eyes, to 
be greater sins, because they are so hurtful to civil so¬ 
ciety, and are so severely punished by human laws. 

But if we consider mankind in a higher view, as God’s 
order or society of rational beings, that are to glorify 
him by the right use of their reason, and by acting con¬ 
formably to the order of their nature, we shall find, 
that every temper that is equally contrary to reason and 
order, that opposes God’s ends and designs, and disor¬ 
ders the beauty and glory of the rational world, is equally 
sinful in man, and equally odious to God. This would 
shew us, that the sin of sensuality is like the sin of dis¬ 
honesty, and renders us as great objects of the divine dis¬ 
pleasure. 

Again, if we consider mankind in a farther view, as a 
redeemed order of fallen spirits, that are baptized into 
a fellowship with the Son of God ; to be temples of the 
Holy Ghost; to live according to his holy inspirations ; 
to offer to God the reasonable sacrifice of an humble, 
pious, and thankful life; to purify themselves from the 
disorders of their fall ; to make a right use of the means 
of grace, in order to be sons of eternal glory ; if we look 
at mankind in this true light, then we shall find that all 
tempers that are contrary to this holy society, that are 
abuses of this infinite mercy; all actions that make us un¬ 
like to Christ, that disgrace his bocIy,that abuse the means 
of grace, and oppose our hopes of glory, have every thing 
in them, that can make us for ever odicus unto God. So 
that though pride and sensuality, and other vices of the 
like kind, do not hurt civil society, as cheating and dis¬ 
honesty do, yet they hurt that society, and oppose those 
ends, which are greater and more glorious in the eyes of 
God, than all the societies that relate to this world. 

Nothing therefore can be more false, than to imagine, 
that because we are private persons, that have taken upon 
ns no charge or employment of life, that therefore we 


DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 


m 


may live more at large, indulge our appetites, and be 
less careful of the duties of piety and holiness ; for it is 
as good an excuse for cheating and dishonesty. Because 
he that abuses his reason, that indulges himself in lust 
and sensuality, and neglects to act the wise and rea¬ 
sonable part of a true Christian, has every thing in his 
life to render him hateful to God, that is to be found 
in cheating and dishonesty. 

If therefore you rather choose to be an idle epicure, 
than to be unfaithful; if you rather choose to live in lust 
and sensuality, than to injure your neighbour in his 
goods, you have made no better a provision for the fa¬ 
vour of God, than he that rather chooses to rob a house, 
than to rob a church. 

For the abusing of our own nature, is as great a dis¬ 
obedience against God, as the injuring our neighbour; 
and he that wants piety towards God, has done as much 
to damn himself, as he that wants honesty towards men. 
Every argument therefore, that proves it necessary for 
all men, in all stations of life, to be truly honest, proves 
it equally necessary for all men, in all stations of life, to 
be truly holy and pious, and do all things in such a man¬ 
ner, as is suitable to the glory of God. 

Again, another argument to prove that all orders of 
men are obliged to be thus holy and devout in the com¬ 
mon course of their lives, in the use of every thing that 
they enjoy, may be taken from our obligation to prayer. 
It is granted, that prayer is a duty that belongs to all 
states and conditions of men; now if we inquire into 
the reason of this, why no state of life is to be excused 
from prayer, we shall find it as good a reason, why every 
state of life is to be made a state of piety and holiness in 
all its parts. 

For the reason why we are to pray unto God, and 
praise him with hymns, and psalms of thanksgiving I is 
this, because we are to live wholly unto God, and glorify 
him all possible ways. It is not because the praises of 
words, or forms of thanksgiving, arc more particularly 
parts of piety, or more the worship of God than other 
things ; but it is because they are possible ways of ex¬ 
pressing our dependence, our obedience and devotion 
to God. Now if this be the reason of verbal praises and 
I. 


t22 


A SERIOUS CALL TO A 


thanksgiving to God, because we are to live unto God 
all possible ways, then it plainly follows, that we are 
equally obliged to worship, and glorify God in all other 
actions, that can be turned into acts of piety and obedi¬ 
ence to him. And as actions are of much more signifi- 
cancy than words, it must be a much more acceptable 
Worship of God, to glorify him in all the actions of our 
common life, than with any little form of words at any 
particular times. 

Thus, if God is to be worshipped with forms of 
thanksgiving, he that makes it a rule to be content and 
thankful in every part and accident of his life, because it 
comes from God, praises God in a much higher manner, 
than he that has some set time for singing of psalms. He 
that dares noUsay an ill-natured word, or do an unrea¬ 
sonable tiling, because he considers God as every where 
present, performs a better devotion than he that dares 
not miss the church. To live in the world as a stranger 
and a pilgrim, using all its enjoyments as if we used them 
not, making all our actions so many steps towards a bet¬ 
ter life, is offering a better sacrifice to God, than any 
forms of holy and heavenly prayers. 

To be humble in all our actions, to avoid every ap¬ 
pearance of pride and vanity, to be meek and lowly in 
our words, actions, dress, behaviour and designs, in imi¬ 
tation of our blessed Saviour, is worshipping God in a 
higher manner, than they who have only times to fall 
low on their knees in devotion. He that contents him¬ 
self with necessaries, that he may give the remainder to 
those that want it; that dares not to spend any money 
foolishly, because he considers it as a talent from God, 
which must be used according to his will, praises God 
Muth something that is more glorious than songs of praise. 

He that has appointed times for the use of wise and 
pious prayers, performs a proper instance of devotion; 
but he tliat allows himself no times, nor any places, nor 
any actions, but such as are strictly conformable to wis¬ 
dom and holiness, worships the divine natuie with the 
most true and substantial devotion. For who does not 
know, that it is better to be pure and holy, than to talk 
about purity and holiness ? Nay, who does not know, 
that a man is to be reckoned no farther pure, or holy, or 


DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE, 


123 


just, than as he is pure, and holy, and just in the com¬ 
mon course of his life ? But if this be plain, then it is 
also plain, that it is better to be holy, than to have holy 
prayers. 

Prayers therefore are so far from being a sufficient 
devotion, that they are the smallest parts of it. We are 
to praise God with words and prayers, because it is a 
possible way of glorifying God, who has given us such 
faculties, as may be so used. But then as words are but 
small things in themselves, as limes of prayer are but 
little, if compared with the rest of our lives ; so that de¬ 
votion whicli consists in times and forms of prayer, is 
but a very small thing, if compared to that devotion 
which is to appear in every other part and circumstance 
of our lives. 

Again; as it is an easy thing to worship God with 
forms of words, and to observe times of offering them 
unto him, so it is the smallest kind of piety. 

And on the other hand, as it is more difficult to wor¬ 
ship God with our substance, to honour him with the 
right use of our time, to offer to him the continual sacri¬ 
fice of self-denial and mortification ; as it requires more 
piety to eat and drink only for such ends as may glorify 
God, to undertake no labour, nor allow of any diversion, 
but where we can act in the name of God ; as it is most 
difficult to sacrifice all our corrupt tempers, correct all 
our passions, and make piety to God the rule and mea¬ 
sure of all the actions of our common life ; so the devo¬ 
tion of this kind is a much more acceptable service unto 
God, than those words of devotion which we offer to 
him either in the church or in the closet. 

Every sober reader will easily perceive, that I do not 
intend to lessen the true and great value of prayers, 
either public or private ; but only to shew him, that 
they are certainly but a very slender part of devotion, 
when compared to a devout life. 

To see this in a yet clearer light, let us suppose a per¬ 
son to have appointed times for praising God with 
psalms and hymns, and to be strict in the observation of 
them ; let it be supposed also, that in his common life 
he is restless and uneasy, full of murmurings and com¬ 
plaints at every thing, never pleased but by chance, as 


124 


A SERIOUS CALL TO A 


his temper happens to carry him, but murmuring and 
repining at the very seasons, and having something to 
dislike in every thing that happens to him. Now can 
you conceive any thing more absurd and unreasonable, 
than such a character as this ? Is such a one to be reck¬ 
oned thankful to God, because he has forms of praise 
which he offers to him ? Nay, is it not certain, that such 
forms of praise must be so far from being an acceptable 
devotion to God, that they must be abhorred as an 
abomination ? Now the absurdity which you see in this 
instance, is the same in any other part of our life ; if our 
common life hath any contrariety to our prayers, it is 
the same abomination, as songs of thanksgiving in the 
mouths of murmurers. 

Bended knees, whilst you are clothed with pride ; 
heavenly petitions, whilst you are hoarding up treasures 
upon earth; holy devotions, whilst you live in the fol¬ 
lies of the world ; prayers of meekness and charity, 
whilst your heart is the seat of spite and resentment; 
hours of prayer, whilst you give up days and years to 
idle diversions, impertinent visits, and foolish pleasures ; 
are as absurd, unacceptable service to God, as forms of 
thanksgiving from a person that lives in repinings and 
discontent. 

So that unless the common course of our lives be 
according to the common spirit of our prayers, our pray¬ 
ers are so far from being a real or sufficient degree of 
devotion, that they become an empty lip-labour, or, what 
is worse, a notorious hypocrisy. 

Seeing therefore we are to make the spirit and temper 
of our prayers the common spirit and temper of our 
lives, this may serve to convince us, that all orders of 
people arc to labour and aspire after the same utmost 
perfection of the Christian life. For as all Christians 
are to use the same holy and heavenly devotions, as they 
are all with the same earnestness to pray for the spirit 
of God ; so is it a sufficient proof, that all orders of peo¬ 
ple arc, to the utmost of their power, to make their life 
agreeable to that one spirit, for which they are all to 
pray. 

As certain therefore as the same holiness of prayers 


DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 


i25 


requires the same holiness of life, so certain is it, that 
all Christians are called to the same holiness ot life. 

A soldier, or a tradesman, is not called to minister at 
the altar, or preach the gospel; but every soldier or 
tradesman is as much obliged to be devout, humble, holy, 
and heavenly-minded in all the parts of his common life, 
as a clergyman is obliged to be zealous, faithful, and la¬ 
borious in all parts of his profession. 

And all this, for this one plain reason, because all peo¬ 
ple are to pray for the same holiness, wisdom and ciivine 
tempers, and to make themselves as fit as they can for 
the same heaven. 

All men therefore, as men, have one and the same 
important business, to act up to the excellency of their 
rational nature, and to make reason and order the law of 
all their designs and actions. All Christians, as Christ¬ 
ians, have one and the same calling, to live according to 
the excellency of the Christian spirit, and to make the 
sublime precepts of the gospel, the rule and measure of 
all their tempers in common life. The one thing need¬ 
ful to one, is the one thing needful to all. 

The merchant is no longer to hoard up treasures upon 
earth ; the soldier is no longer to fight for glory ; the 
great scholar is no longer to pride himself in the depths 
of science; but they must all with one spirit cou?it all 
things blit lost^ for the excellency of the knowledge of 
Christ Jesus. 

The fine lady must teach her eyes to weep, and be 
clothed with humility. The polite gentleman must ex¬ 
change the gay thoughts of wit and fancy, for a broken 
and a contrite heart.’ The man of quality must so far 
renounce the dignity of his birth, as to think himself 
miserable till he' is bora again. Servants must consider 
their service as done unto God. Masters must consider 
their servants as their brethren in Christ, that are to be 
treated as their fellow members of the mystical body of 
Christ. 

Young ladies must, eitheir devote themselves to piety, 
prayer, self-denial, and all good works, in a virgin state 
of life; or else marry to be holy, sober, am) prudent in 
the care of a family, bringing up their childien in piety, 
humility and devotion, and abounding in all other good 
L 2 


A SER’IOtJS CAtl ta A 


^^26 

works, to the utmost of their slate and capacity. They 
have no choice of any thing else, but must devote them-- 
selves to God in one of these states. They may choose 
a married or a single life ; but it is not left to their choice, 
whether they will make either state a state of holiness, 
humility, devotion, and all other duties of the Christian 
life. It is no more left in their power^ because they 
have fortunes, or are born of rich parents, to divide 
themselves betwixt God and the world, or take such 
pleasures as their fortunes would afford them, that it is 
allowable for them to be sometimes chaste and modest, 
and sometimes not. 

They are not to consider how much religion may se¬ 
cure them a fair character, or how they may add devo¬ 
tion to an impertinent, vain, and giddy life ; but must 
look into the spirit and temper of their prayers, into the 
nature and end of Christianity, and then they will find, 
that whether married or unmamed, they have but one 
business upon their hands, to be wise and pious, and 
holy, not in little modes and forms of worship; but in 
the whole turn of their minds, in the whole form of all 
their behaviour, and in the daily course of their common 
life. 

^ Young gentlemen must consider, what our blessed Sa¬ 
viour said to the young gentleman in the gospel, he bid 
/lim sell all that he had and give it to the floor. Now 
though this text should not oblige all people to sell all, 
yet it certainly obliges all kind of people to employ all 
their estates in such wise and reasonable and charitable 
ways, as may sufficiently shew that all that they have is 
devoted to God, and tliat no part of it is kept from the 
poor to be spent in needless, vain and foolish expenses. 
^ If therefore young gentlemen propose to themselves a 
life of pleasure and indulgence, if they spend their estates 
in a high living, in luxury and intemperance, in state and 
equipage, in pleasures and diversions, in sports and gam¬ 
ing, and such like wanton gratifications of their foolish 
passions, they have as much reason to look upon them¬ 
selves to be angels, as to be disciples of Christ. 

Let them be assured, that it is the one only business of 
a Christian gentleman, to distinguish himself by good 
works, to be eminent in the most sublime virtues of the 


DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 


12T 


f^ospel, to bear with the ignorance and weakness of the 
vulgar, to be a friend and patron to all that dwell about 
him, to live in the utmost heights of wisdom and holiness, 
and shew through the whole course of his life a true 
religious greatness of mind. They must aspire after 
such a gentility, as they might have learnt from seeing 
the blessed Jesus, and shew no other spirit of a gentle¬ 
man, but such as they might have got by living with the 
holy apostles. They must learn to love God with all 
their heart, with all their soul, and with all their strength, 
and their neighbour as themselves; and then they have 
all the greatness and distinction that they can have here, 
and are fit for an eternal happiness in heaven hereafter. 

Thus in all orders and conditions either of men or 
women, this is the one common holiness, which is to be 
the common life of all Christians. 

The merchant is not to leave devotion to the clergy¬ 
man, nor the clergyman to leave humility to the labour¬ 
er ; women of fortune are not to leave it to the poor of 
their sex, to be discreet, chaste keepers at home, to adorn 
themselves in modest apparel, shamefacedness and so¬ 
briety ; nor poor women leave it to the rich to attend 
on the worship and service of God. Great men must 
be eminent for true poverty of spirit, and people of a low 
and afflicted state must greatly rejoice in God. 

The man of strength and power is to forgive and pray 
for his enemies, and the innocent siiflTerer that is chained 
in prison, must with Paul and Silas, at midnight sing 
praise to God. For God is to be glorified, holiness is 
to be practised, and the spirit of religion is to be the 
common spirit of every Christian in every state and con¬ 
dition of life. 

For the son of God did not come from above, to add 
an external form of worship to the several ways of life 
that are in the world ; and so to leave people to live as 
they did before, in such tempers and enjoyments as the 
fashion and spirit of the world approves. Hut as he came 
down from heaven, altogether divine and heavenly in his 
own nature, so it was to call mankind to a divine and 
heavenly life ; to the highest change of their whole na¬ 
ture and temper ; to be born again of the I'o’y spirit; to 
walk in the wisdom and light and love of God ; and be 


123 


A SERIOUS CALL TO A 


like him to the utmost of their power; to renounce ail 
the most plausible ways of the world, whether of great¬ 
ness, business or pleasure ; to a mortification of all their 
most agreeable passions; and to live in such wisdom, 
and purity, and holiness, as might fit them to be glorious 
in the enjoyment of God to all eternity. 

Whatever therefore is foolish, ridiculous, vain, or 
earthly, or sensual in the life of a Christian, is something 
that ought not to be there, it is a spot and a defilement 
that must be washed away with tears of repentance. 
But if any thing of this kind runs through the course 
of our whole life, if we allow ourselves in things, that 
are either vain, foolish or sensual, we renounce our 
profession. 

For as sure as Jesus Christ was wisdom and holiness, 
as sure as he came to make us like himself, and to be 
baptized into his spirit, so sure is it, that none can be 
said to keep to their Christian profession, but they, who 
to the utmost of their power live a wise and holy and 
heavenly life. This, and this alone, is Christianity, an 
universal holiness in every part of life, a heavenly wis¬ 
dom in all our actions, not conforming to the spirit and 
temper of the world, but lurning all worldly enjoyments 
into means of piety and devotion to God. 

But now if this devout state of heart, if these habits 
of inward holiness be true religion, then true religion is 
equally the duty and happiness of all orders of men ; for 
there is nothing to recommend it to one, that is not the 
same recommendation of it to all states of people. 

If it be the happiness and glory of a bishop to live in 
this devout spirit, full of these holy tempers, doing every 
thing as unto God, it is as much the glory and happiness 
of all men and women, whether young or old, to live in 
the same spirit. And whoever can find any reasons, 
why an ancient bishop should be intent upon divine 
things, turning all his life into the highest exercise of 
piety, wisdom and devotion, wdll find them so many rea¬ 
sons, why he should to the utmost of his power do the 
same liimself. 

If you say, that a bishop must be an eminent example 
of Christian holiness, because of his high and sacred call¬ 
ing, you say right. But if you say that it is more to his 


DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 


129 


advantage to be exemplary, than it is yours, you greatly 
mistake. For there is nothing to make the highest de¬ 
grees of holiness desirable to a bishop, but what makes 
them equally desirable to every young person of every 
family. 

For an exalted piety, high devotion, and the religious 
use of every thing, is as much the glory and happiness 
of one state of life, as it is of another. 

Do but fancy in your mind what a spirit of piety you 
would have in the best bishop in the world, how you 
would have him love God, how you would have him 
imitate the life of our Saviour and his apostles, how you 
would have nim live above the world, shining in all the 
instances of a heavenly life, and then you have found 
out that spirit, which you ought to make the spirit of 
your own life. 

I desire every reader to dwell a while upon this re¬ 
flection, and perhaps he will find more convxtion from 
it, than he imagines. Every one can tell how good and 
pious he would have some people to be ; every one 
knows how wise and reasonable a thing it is in a bishop, 
to be entirely above the world, and be an example of 
Christian perfection : as soon as you think of a wise and 
ancient bishop, you fancy some exalted degree of piety, 
a living example of all those holy tempers, which you 
find described in the gospel. 

Now if you ask yourself, what is the happiest thing for 
a young clergyman to do ? You must be forced to an¬ 
swer, that nothing can be so happy and glorious for him, 
as to be like that excellent holy bishop. 

If you go on, and ask what is the happiest thing for 
any young gentleman or his sisters to do ? The answer 
must be the same ; that nothing can be so happy or glo¬ 
rious for tiiem, as to live in such habits of piety, in such 
exercises of a divine life, as this good old bishop does. 
For every thing that is great and glorious in religion, is 
as much the true glory of every man or woman, as it is 
the glory of any bishop. If high degrees of divine love, 
if fervent charity, if spotless purity, if heavenly affection, 
if constant mortification, if frequent devotion be the best 
and happiest way of life for any Christian; it is so for 
every Christian. 


m 


A SERIOUS CALL TO A 


Consider again; if you was to see a bishop in the 
whole course of his life, living below his character, con¬ 
forming to all the foolish tempers of the world, and gov¬ 
erned by the same cares and fears which govern vain 
and worldly men, what would yen think of him ? Would 
you think that he was only guilty of a small mistake ? 
^Jo: you would condemn him, as erring in that which 
IS not only the most, but the only important matter that 
relates to him. Stay a while in this consideration, till 
your mind is fully convinced, how miserable a mistake 
It is in a bishop, to live a careless, worldly life. 

Wiiilst you are thinking in this manner, turn your 
thoughts towards some of your acquaintance, your bro¬ 
ther or sister, or any young person. Now if you see 
the common course of their lives to be not according 
f.].® doctrines of the gospel, if you see that their way 
pt hie cannot be said to be a sincere endeavour to enter 
in at the strait gate, you see something that you are to 
condemn m the same degree, and for the same reasons. 
1 ney do not commit a small mistake, but are wrong in 
that w.nch is their all, and mistake their true happiness, 
as iTuicn as that bishop does, who neglects the high du¬ 
ties ol his calling. Apply this reasoning to yourself; if 
you find yourself living an idle, indulgent vain life, choos¬ 
ing ratiier to gratify your passions, than to live up to 
tne docti ines of Christianity, and practise the plain pre- 
cepts of our blessed Lord, you have all that blindness 
aiirj unreasonableness to charge upon yourself, that you 
can charge upon any irregular bishop. 

For all the virtues of the Christian life, its perfect 
purity, Its heavenly tempers, are as much the sole rule 
ot your life, as the sole rule of the life of a bishop If 
you neglect these holy tempers, if you do not eagerly 
aspire after them, if you do not shew yourself a visible 
example of them, you are as much fallen from your true 
happiness, you are as great an enemy to yourself, and 

as that bishop that chooses 
lathei to enrich his family, than to be like an apostle. 
tov there is no reason, why you should think the highest 
holiness, the most heavenly tempers, to be the duty and 
he ppiness of a bishop ; but what is as good a reason, why 
you should think the same tempers, to be the duty and 


DEVOUT ANT) HOLY LITE, 

happiness of Christians. And as the wisest bishop in 
the world, is he, who lives in the greatest heights of 
holiness, who is most exemplary in all the exercises of a 
divine life, so the wisestyouth,the wisest woman, whether 
married or unmarried, is she that lives in the highest de¬ 
grees of Christian holiness, and all the exercises of a di** 
vme and heavenly life. 


CHAP. XL 

Shewing how great de-uotion Jills our lives with the 
greatest peace and happiness that can be enjoyed in 
this world. 

SOME people will perhaps object, that all these 
rules of holy living unto God in all that we do, are too 
great a restraint upon human jif.- ; that it will be made 
too anxious a state, by thus hiiiociucing a regard to God 
in all our actions. And tliat by depriving ourselves of 
so many seemingly innocent pleasures, vve shall render 
our lives dull, uneasy, and meianchoiy. 

To which it may be answered: 

First, That these rules are presciibed for, and will 
certainly procure a quite contrary end. T at instead 
of making our lives dull and meianchcly, they will ren¬ 
der them full ol content and strong satisfactions. That 
by these rules we only change the ci.ilciish satisfactions 
of our vain and sickly passions, for tiie soiid enjoyments, 
and real happiness of a sound mind. 

Secondly, That as there is no foundation for comfort 
in the enjoyments of this life, but in il-.e assurance that a 
wise and good God governeth the world, o the more 
w^e find out God in every thing, the more we apply to 
him in every place, the more we look up to him in all 
our actions, the more we conform to his wiii, the moi’o 
we act according to his wisdom, ai-d i nhale his good¬ 
ness by so much the more do we enjoy God, partake of 
the divine nature, and heighten and increase ail that is 
happy and comfortable in human life. 

Thirdly, He that is endeavouiiiig to subdue and root 


iS2 


A SERIOUS CALL TO A 


out of his mind all those passions of pride, envy and am- 
bilion, which religion opposes, is doing more to make 
himseif happy, even in this life,than he that is contriving 
means to indulge them. 

For these passions are the causes of all the disquiets 
and vexations of human life : they are the dropsies and 
fevers of our minds, vexing them with false appetites, 
and restless cravings after such things as we do not 
want, and spoiling our taste for those things which are 
our proper good. 

Do but imagine that you somewhere or other saw a 
man that proposed reason as the rule of all his actions, 
that had no desires but after such things as nature wants, 
and religion approves, that was as pure from all the mo¬ 
tions of pride, envy, and covetousness, as from thoughts 
of murder; that in this freedom from worldly passions, 
he had a soul full of divine love, wishing and praying 
that all men may have what they want of worldly things, 
and be partakers of eternal glory in the life to come. 

Do but fancy a man living in this manner, and your 
own conscience will immediately tell you, that he is the 
happiest man in the world, and that it is not in the power 
of the richest fancy to invent any higher happiness in the 
present state of life. 

And on the other hand, if you suppose him to be in 
any degree less perfect; if you suppose him but subject 
to one h/oiish fondness, or vain passion, your own con¬ 
science will again tell you, that he so far lessens his own 
happiness, and robs himself of the true enjoyment of his 
other virtues. So true is it, that the more we live by 
the rules of religion, the more peaceful and happy do we 
render our lives. 

Again, as it thus appears, that real happiness is only 
to be had from the greatest degrees of piety, the greatest 
denials of our passions, and the strictest rules of redgion, 
80 the same truth will appear from a consideration of 
human miseiy. If we look into the world, and view 
the disquiets and troubles of human life, we shall find 
that they are all owing to cur violent and irreligious 
passions. 

Now all trouble and uneasiness is founded in the want 
of something or other; would we therefore know the 


devout and holy life. 


133 


ASSESSES 

^ and increase our trouble and disquiets. ^ 

1 ft.,. Almighty has sent us into the world with verv 

few wants ; meat and drink, and clothing, are the only 
I. th ngs necessary in life ; and as these arl only our ore 

I t^ 

hiCr to f rdlittt'aV“reVh%^„Z.‘‘’‘"^ 

1 ® few wants and 

nto a large world, very capable of supplying them So 

‘ MSS thdr"ir reasonably 6 Up|,ose, tl 4 men sh.oidd 
j pass their lives in content and thankfulness to God at 
least that they should be free from violent disquiets mid 
I vexations, as being placed in a world, that has more than 
' enough to relieve all their wants. 

. ifto all this we add, that this short life, thus fur 
nished with a 1 that we want in it, is only a short nas 
sage to eternal glory, where we shall be^clothed with 
the brightness of angels, and enter into the joys of God 
we might still more reasonably exnert thJ i .f rr 
should he a state of peace, and^foyfr^ dcHGod^ 
everul'^°” certainly be, if reason had its full power 

But alas ! though God, and nature, and reason, make 
human life thus free from wants, and so full of iiappiness, 
yet our passions, in rebellion against God, against nature 
and reason, create a new world of evils, Lnd fill huml,t 
hfe with imaginary wants, and vain disquiets. 

The man of pride has a thousand wants, which only 
his own pride has created ; and these render him as fuU 
of tiouble, as if God had created him with a thousand 
appetites, without creating any thing that was proper to 
satisfy them. Envy and ambition have also their cmliess 
wants, which disquiet the souls of men, and by their 
contradictory motions, render them as foolishly niise- 
rable, as those that want to fly and creep at the same 


M 




IM 


SERIOUS CALL TO A 


Let but any complaining, disquieted man tell you the 
ground of his uneasiness, and you will plainly see, that 
he is the author of his own torment; that he is vexing 
himself at some imaginary evil, which will cease to tor¬ 
ment him, as soon as he is content to be that which God, 
and nature, and reason require him to be. 

If you should see a man passing his days in disquiet, 
because he could not walk upon the water, or catch birds 
as they fly by him, you would readily confess, that such 
a one might thank himself for such uneasiness. But 
now if you look into all the most tormenting disquiets of 
life, you will find them all thus absurd; where people 
are only tormented by their own folly, and vexing them¬ 
selves at such things as no more concern them, nor are 
any more their proper good, than walking upon the 
water, or catching birds. 

What can you conceive more silly and extravagant, 
than to suppose a man racking his brains, and studying 
night and day how to fly ? wandering from his own 
house and home, wearying himself with climbing upon 
every ascent, cringing and courting every body he meets, 
to lift him up from the ground, bruising himself with 
continual falls, and at last breaking his neck ? And all 
this, from an imagination that it would be glorious to 
have the eyes of people gazing up at him, and mighty 
happy to eat and drink, and sleep, at the top of the highest 
trees in the kingdom. Would you not readily own, that 
such a one was only disquieted by his own folly ? 

If you ask, what it signifies to suppose such silly 
creatures as these, as are no where to be'found in human 
life? 

It may be answered, that wherever you see an ambi¬ 
tious man, there you see this vain and senseless flyer. 

Again, if you should see a man that had a large pond 
of water, yet living in continual thirst, not suffering 
himself to drink half a draught, for fear of lessening his 
pond; if you should see him wasting his time and 
strength, in fetching more water to his pond, always 
thirsty, yet always carrying a bucket of water in his hand, 
watching early and late to catch the drops of rain, gap¬ 
ing after every cloud, and running greedily into every 
mire and mud, in hopes of water, and always studying 



DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFD. 


J 35 


how to make every ditch empty itself into his pond. If 
you should see him grow grey'and old in these anxious 
labours, and at last end a careful, thirsty life, by falling 
into his own pond, would you not say that such a one 
was not only the author of all his own disquiets, but was 
foolish enough to be reckoned amongst idiots and mad¬ 
men ? But yet foolish and absurd as this character is, it 
does not represent half the follies, and absurd disquiets, 
of the covetous man. 

I could now easily proceed to shew the same effects 
of all our other passions ; and make it plainly appear, that 
all our miseries, vexations, and complaints, are entirely 
of our own making, and that in the same absurd manner, 
as in these instances of the covetous and ambitious man. 
Look where you will, you will see all worldly vexations 
but like the vexation of him, that was always in mire and 
mud in search of water to drink, when he had more at 
home than was sufficient for an hundred horses. 

Caelia is always telling you how' provoked she is, what 
intolerable shocking things happen to her, what mon¬ 
strous usage she suffers, and what vexations she meets 
with every where. She tells you that her patience is 
quite wore out, and there is no bearing the behaviour of 
people. Every assembly that she is at, sends her home 
provoked; something or other has been said or done, 
that no reasonable, well-bred person ought to bear. Poor 
people that want her charity, are sent away with hasty 
answers, not because she has not a heart to part with any 
money, but because she is too full of some trouble of 
her own, to attend the complaints of others. Cselia has 
no business upon her hands, but to receive the income 
of a plentiful fortune ; but yet by the doleful turn of her 
mind, you would be apt to think, that she had neither 
food nor lodging. If you see her look more pale than 
ordinary, if her lips tremble when she speaks to you, it 
is because she is just come from a visit, where Lupus 
took no notice at all of her, but talked all the time to 
Lucinda, who has not half her fortune. When cross 
accidents have so disordered her spirits, that she is forced 
to send for the doctor to make her able to eat; she tells 
him, in great anger at providence, that she never was 


A SERIOUS CALL TO A 


well since she was born, and that she envies every beg’- 
gar that she sees in health. 

This is the disquiet life of Caelia, who has nothing to 
torment her but her own spirit.^ 

If you would inspire her with a Christian humility, 
you need do no more to make her happy as any person 
in the world. This virtue would make her thankful to 
God for half so much health as she has had, and help 
her to enjoy more for the time to come. This virtue 
would keep off tremblings of the spirits, and loss of 
appetite, and her blood wouid need nothing else to sweet¬ 
en it. 

I have just touched upon these absurd characters for 
no other end, but to convince you in the plainest man¬ 
ner, that the strictest rules of religion are so far from 
rendering a life dull, anxious, and uncomfortable (as is 
above objected) that, on the contrary, all the miseries, 
vexations, and complaints that are in the world, are all 
owing to the want of religion ; being directly caused 
by those absurd passions, which religion teaches us to 
deny. 

For all the wants which disturb human life, which 
make us uneasy to ourselves, quarrelsome with others, 
and unthankful to God ; which weary us in vain labours 
and foolish anxieties ; which carry us from project to 
project, from place to place, in a poor pursuit of we 
do not know what, are the wants which neither God, 
nor nature, nor reason hath subjected us to, but arc 
solely infused into us, by pride, envy, ambition, and 
covetousness. 

So far therefore as you reduce your desires to such 
things as nature and reason require ; so far as you re¬ 
gulate all the motions, of your heart by the strict rules 
of religion, so far you remove yourself from that infinity 
of wants and vexations, which torment every heart that 
is left to itself. 

INlost people indeed confess, that religion preserves us 
from a great many evils, and helps, us in many respects 
to a more happy enjoyment of ourselves ; but then they 
imagine, that this is only true of such a moderate share 
of religion, as only gently restrains us from the excesses 
9f our passions,. They s.upposQ U-vtttthc strict rules and 


devout and holy life. rsr 

restraints of an exalted piety, are such contradictions to 
our nature, as must needs make our lives dull and un- 
comtortable. 

Althou^gh the weakness of this objection sufficiently 
appears from what hath been already said, yet I shall 
add one word more to it. 

This objection supposes, that religion, moderately 
practised, adds much to the happiness of life; but that 
such height of piety as the perfection of religion re- 
quireth, hath a contrary effect. 

It supposes therefore, that it is happy to be kept from 
the excesses of envy, but unhappy to be kept from other 
degrees of envy ; that it is happy to be delivered from 
a boundless ambition, but unhappy to be without a more 
inoderate ambition. It supposes also, that the happiness 
of life consists in a mixture of ambition, and humility, 
chanty^ and envy,^ heavenly affection and covetousness. 
All which is as absurd, as to suppose that it is happy to 
be free from excessive pains, but unhappy to be without 
more moderate pains ; or that the happiness of health 
consisted in being partly sick and partly well. 

For if humility be the peace and rest of the soul, then 
no one has so much happiness from humility, as he that 
is the most humble. If excessive envy is a torment of 
the soul, he most perfectly delivers himself from torment, 
that most perfectly extinguishes every spark of envy. If 
there is any peace and joy in doing any action according, 
to the will of God, he that brings the most of his actions 
to this rule, does most of all increase the peace and iow 
of his life, 

And thus it is in every virtue • if yon act up to every 
degree of it, the more happiness you have from it. And 
so of every vice if you only abate its excesses, you do 
but little for yourself;; but if you reject it in all de¬ 
grees, then you feel tlie true ease and joy of a reformed 
mind. 

As for example ;; if religion only restrains the excesses 
of revenge, but lets the spirit still live within you in 
lesser instances, your religion may have made your life 
a little more outwardly decent, but not have made you 
at all happier or easier in yourself. But if you have 
once sacrificed all thoughts of revenge, in obedience to> 
M 2 


-J^^Q A CKM to A 

Ood, and are resolved to retuhi good for evil at all time^ 
that you may render yourself more like to God, and 
fitter for his mercy in the kingdom of love and glory ; 
this is a height of virtue that will make you feel its hap- 

As to those satisfactions and enjoyments 
which an exalted piety requireth us to deny oUrselves, 
this deprives US of real comfort of life. 

For, Is?, Piety requires us to renounce no ways ot' 
life, where we can act reasonably, and offer what we do- 
to the glory of God. All ways of life, all satisfactions- 
and enjoyments that are within theser bounds, are no¬ 
way denied us by the strictest rules of piety. Whatever 
you can do, or enjoy, as in the presence of God, as his^ 
servant, as his rational creature, that has received reason 
and knowledge from him ; all that you can perform con¬ 
formably to a rational nature, and the will of God, all 
this is allowed by the laws of piety ; and will you think 
that yout life will be uncomfortable, Unless you may 
displease Gbd, be a fool and mad, and act contrary to 
that reason and wisdom which he has implanted in you r 

And as for those satisfactions, which we dare not offer 
to a holy God, which are only invented by the folly and 
corruption of the w'orld, which inflame our passions, and 
sink oitr souls into grossness and sensuality, and render 
us incapable of the divine favour either hci-e or hereaf¬ 
ter ; surely it can be no Uncomfortable state of life, to 
be rescued by religion from such self-murder, and to bo 
rendered capable of eternal happiness. 

Let u§ suppose a person destitute of that knowledge 
i^hich we have from our senses, placed somewhere alone 
by himself, in the midst of a variety of things^ which' 
he did not know how to use, that he has by him bread,- 
wine, water, golden dust, iron chains, gravel, garments, 
fire, &c. llet it be supposed, that he has no knowledge 
of the right use of these things^ nor any direction from 
his senses* how tb quench his thirst, or satisfy his hunger,- 
or make any use of the things about him. Let it be 
supposed, that ih hia draught he puts golden dust into 
his eyes; When his eyes smart, he pUt^ wihe into his 
tars j that in his hiinger, he puts gravel into his mouth j 
that in pain, he loads himself with the iron chains; that 


AND HOLY LIFE, 


13 ? 


feeling cold, he puts his feet in the water; that being 
frighted at the fire, he runs away from it; that being 
weary, he makes a seat of his bread. Let it be supposed, 
that through his ignorance of the right use of the 
things that are about him, he will plainly torment him¬ 
self whilst he lives ; and at last die, blinded with dust, 
choked with gravel, and loaded with irons. Let it be 
Supposed that some good being came to him, and shewed' 
him the nature and use of all the things that were about 
him, and gave him such strict rules of uS>ng them, as- 
would certainly, if observed, make him the happier for 
all that he had, and deliver him from the pains of hun¬ 
ger, and thirst, and cold. 

Now could you with any reason afhrm, that those 
strict rules of using those things that were about him, 
had rendered that poor man’s life dull and uncomfort¬ 
able ? 

Now this is'in some measure a representation of the 
strict rules of religion ; they only relieve our ignorance,* 
save us from tormenting ourselves, and teach us to use 
every thing about us to our proper advantage. 

Man is placed in a world full of variety of things ; his 
ignorance makes him use many of them as absurdly, as 
t?he man that put dust in his eyes to relieve his thirst, or 
put on chains to remove pain. 

Religion therefore here comes in to his relief, and 
gives him strict rules of using every thing that is about 
him ; thdt by so using them suitably to his own nature 
and the nature of the things, he may have always the 
pleasure of receiving a right benefit from them. It 
shews him what is strictly right in meaty drink and 
clothes; and that he has nothing else to expect from the 
things of this world, but to satisfy such wants of his 
own ; and then to extend his assistance to all his breth¬ 
ren, that as far as- he is able, he may help all his fellow- 
creatures to the same benefit from^ the world that he 
hath. 

It tells himy that this world is incapable of giving him 
any other happiness ; and that all endeavours to be hap¬ 
py in heaps of money, or acres of land, in fine clothes, 
rich beds, stately equipage, and shew and splendour, 
are only vain endeavours, ignorant attempts after im- 


HO 


A SERIOUS CALL TO A 


possibilities ; these things being no more able to give 
the least degree of happiness, than dust in the eyes can 
cure thirst, or gravel in the mouth satisfy hunger; but, 
like dust and gravel misapplied, will only serve to ren¬ 
der him more unhappy by such an ignorant misuse of 
them. 

It tells him, that although this world can do no more 
for him, than satisfy these wants of the body ; yet that 
there is a much greater goorl prepared for man, than eat¬ 
ing, drinking, and dressing ; that it is yet invisible to his 
eyes, being too glorious for the apprehension of flesh and 
blood ; but reserved for him to enter upon, as soon as 
this short life is over ; where, in a new body, formed to 
an angelic likeness, he shall dwell in the light and glory 
of God to all eternity. 

It tells him, that this state of glory will be given to- 
all those, that make a right use of the things of this 
present world ; who do not blind themselves with golden 
dust, or eat gravel, or groan under loads of iron of their 
own putting on ; but use bread, water, wine, and gar¬ 
ments, for such ends as are according to nature and rea¬ 
son ; and who with faith and thankfulness worship the 
kind giver of all that they enjoy here, and hope for 
hereafter. 

Now can any one say, that the strictest rules of such 
a religion as this, debar us of any of the comforts of life ? 
Might it not as justly be said of those rules, that only 
hindered a man from choaking himself with gravel ? For 
the strictness of these rules only consists in the exact¬ 
ness of their rectitude. 

Who could complain of the severe strictness of a law, 
that without any exception forbad the putting of dust 
into our eyes ? Who could think it too rigid, that there 
were no abatements ? Now this is the strictness of reli¬ 
gion, it requires nothing of us strictly, or without abate¬ 
ments, but where every degree of the thing is wrongs 
where every indulgence does us some hurt. 

If religion forbids all instances of revenge without any 
exception, it is because all revenge is of the nature of 
poison; and though we do not take so much as to put 
an end to lifcj yet if we take any at all;- it corrupts ther 


DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE, 


141 


whole mass of blood, and makes it difficult to be restored 
to our former health. 

If religion commands an universal charity, to love our 
neighbour as ourselves, to forgive and pray for all our 
enemie*s without any reserve : it is because all degrees 
of love are degrees of happiness, that strengthen and 
support the divine life of the soul, and are as necessary 
to its health and happiness, as proper food is necessary 
to the health and happiness of the body. 

If religion has laws against laying up treasures upon 
earth, and commands us to be content with food and 
'raiment; it is because every other use of the world is 
abusing it to our own vexation, and turning all its con- 
veniencies into snares and traps to destroy us. It is be¬ 
cause this plainness and simplicity of life, secures us 
from the cares and pains of restless pride and envy, and 
makes it easier to keep that strait road that will carry 
us to eternal life. 

If religion saith. Sell that thou hast^ and give to the 
floor ; it is because there is no other natural or reason¬ 
able use of our riches, no other way of making ourselves 
happier for them ; it is because it is as strictly right to 
give others that which we do not want ourselves, as k 
is right to use so much as our own wants require. For 
if a man has more food than his own nature requires, 
how base and unreasonable is it, to invent foolish ways 
of wasting it, and make sport for his own full belly, 
rather than let his fellow-creatures have the same com¬ 
fort from food, which he hath had ? It is so far therefore 
from being a hard law of religion, to make this use of 
our riches, that a reasonable man would rejoice in that 
religion which teaches him to be happier in that which 
he gives away, than in that which he keeps for himself; 
which teaches him to make spare food and raiment be 
greater blessings to him, than that which feeds and 
clothes his own body. 

If religion requires us sometimes to fast, and deny our 
natural appetites, it is to lessen that struggle and war 
that is in our nature ; it is to render cur bodies fitter in¬ 
struments of purity, and more obedient to the good mo¬ 
tions of divine grace ; it is to dry up the springs of our 
passions that war against the soul, to cool the flame pf 


142 


A SERIOUS CALL TO A 


our blood, and render the mind more capable of divine 
meditations. So that although these abstinences give 
sonie pain to the body, yet they so lessen the power of 
bodily appetites and passions, and so increase our taste 
of spiritual joys, that even these severities of religion, 
when practised with discretion, add much to the com¬ 
fortable enjoyment of our lives. 

If religion calleth us to a life of watching and prayer, 
it is because we live amongst a crowd of enemies, and 
are always in need of the assistance of God. If we are 
to confess and bewail our sins, it is because such con¬ 
fessions relieve the mind, and restore it to ease ; as bur¬ 
dens and weights taken off the shoulders, relieve the 
body, and make it easier to itself. If we are to be fre¬ 
quent and fervent in holy petitions, it is to keep us 
steady in the sight of our true good, and that we may 
never want the happiness of a lively faith, a joyful 
hope, and well-grounded trust in God. If we are to 
pray often, it is that we may be often happy in such 
secret joys as only prayer can give; in such communi¬ 
cations of the divine presence, as will fill our minds 
with all the happiness that beings not in heaven are 
capable of. 

Was there any thing in the world more worth our 
care ; was there any exercise of the mind, or any con¬ 
versation with men, that turned more to our advantage 
than this intercourse with God, we should not be called 
to such a continuance in prayer. But if a man considers 
what it is that he leaves when he retires to devotion, he 
will find it no small happiness to be so often relieved 
from doing nothing, or nothing to the purpose ; from 
dull idleness, unprofitable labour, or vain conversation. 
If he considers, that all that is in the world, and all that 
is doing in it, is only for the body, and bodily enjoy¬ 
ments, he will have reason to rejoice at those hours of 
prayer, which carry him to higher consolations, which 
raise him above these poor concerns, which open to his 
mind a scene of greater things, and accustom his soul to- 
the hope and expectation of them. 

If religion commands us to live wholly unto God, and 
to do all to his glory j it is because every other way is. 


DEVOUT AND HOLY UFE. J45 

living wholly against ourselves, and will end in our o^v^i 
shame and confusion of face. 

As eveiy thing is dark, that God does not enlighten ; 
as every thing is senseless, that has not its share of know¬ 
ledge from him ; as nothing lives, but by partaking of 
life from him ; as nothing exists, but because he com¬ 
mands it to be ; so there is no glory, or greatness, but 
what is the glory or greatness of God. » 

We indeed may talk of human glory, as we may talk 
of human life or human knowledge ; but as we are sure 
that human life implies nothing of our own, but a de¬ 
pendent living in God, or enjoying so much life in God ; 
so human glory, whenever we find it, must be only so 
much glory as we enjoy in the glory of God. 

This is the state of all creatures, whether men or an¬ 
gels ; as they make not themselves, so they enjoy no¬ 
thing from themselves; if they are great, it must be 
only as great receivers of the gifts of God ; their power 
can only be so much of the divine power acting in 
them ; their wisdom can be only so much of the divine 
wisdom shining within them ; and their light and glory, 
only so much of the light and glory of God shining upon 
them. 

As they are not men or angels, because they had a 
mind to be so themselves, but because the will of God 
formed them to be what they are; so they cannot enjoy 
this or that happiness of men or angels, because they 
have a mind to it, but because it is the will of God, that 
such things be the happiness of men, and such things 
the happiness of angels. But now if God be thus all in 
all; if his will is thus the measure of all things, and all 
natures; if nothing can be done, but by his power; if 
nothing can be seen, but by a light from him; if we 
have nothing to fear, but from his justice; if we have 
nothing to hope for, but from his goodness; if this is 
the nature of man, thus helpless in himself; if this is 
the state of all creatures, as well those in heaven, as 
those on earth ; if they are nothing, can do nothing, can 
suffer no pain, nor feel any happiness, but so far, and in 
such degrees, as the power of God does all this : if this 
be the state of things, then how can we have the least 
glympse of joy and comfort, how can we have any peace* 


144 


A S^:RIOUS CALL TO A 


full enjoyment of ourselves, but by living tvholly tinto 
that God, using and doing every thing conformably to 
his will ? A life thus devoted unto God, looking wholly 
unto him in all our actions, and doing all things suit* 
ably to his glory, is so far from being dull, and uncom¬ 
fortable, that it creates new comforts in every thing that 
we do. 

On the contrary, would you see how happy they are 
who live according to their own wills, who cannot sub¬ 
mit to the dull and melancholy business of a life devot¬ 
ed unto God ? look at the man in the parable, to whom 
his lord had given one talent. 

He could not bear the thoughts of using his talent 
according to the will of him from whom he had it, and 
therefore he chose to make himself happier in a way of 
his own. Lord^ says he, I knew thee^ that thou art an 
hard man^ reajiing where thou hast not sown^ and gath- 
ering where thou hast not strawed. And I was afraidy 
and went and hid thy talent in the earth. Lo there thou 
hast that is thine. Matt. xxv. 24. 

His lord having convicted him out of his own mouth, 
dispatches him with this sentence : Cast the unfirofitable 
servant into outer darkness ; there shall be weejiing and 
gnashing of teeth. Matt. xxv. 30. 

Here you see how happy this man made himself by 
not acting wholly according to the Lord’s will. It was, 
according to his own account, a happiness of murmur¬ 
ing and discontent; I knew thee, says he, that thou wast 
an hard man ; it was an happiness of fears and appre¬ 
hensions ; I was, says he afraid : it was an happiness of 
vain labours and fruitless travails : I went, says he, and 
hid thy talent; and after having been a while the sport 
of foolish passions, tormenting fears, and fruitless la¬ 
bours, he is rewarded with darkness, eternal weeping, 
and gnashing of teeth. 

Now this is the happiness of all those, who look upon 
a strict and exalted piety, that is, a right use of their 
talent, to be a dull and melancholy state of life. 

They may live a while free from the restraints and 
directions of religion, but instead thereof, they must be 
under the absurd government of their passions : they 
must, like the man in the parable, live in murmurings 


DEVOUT AND HOLY Lll'E' 


U5 

and discontents, in fears and apprehensions. They may 
avoid the labour of doing good, of spending their time 
devoutly, of laying up treasures in heaven, of clothing 
the naked, of visiting the sick; but then they must, like 
this man, have labours and pains in vain, that tend to no 
use or advantage, that do no good either to themselves, 
or others ; they must travail, and labour, and work, and 
dig to hide their talent in the earth. They must like him, 
at the Lord’s coming, be convicted out of their own 
mouths, be accu«ed by their own hearts, and have eveiy 
thing that they have said and thought of religion, be 
made to shew the justice of their condemnation to eter¬ 
nal darkness, weeping and gnashing of teeth. 

This is the purchase that they make, who avoid the 
strictness and perfection of religion, in order to live 
happily. 

On the other hand, would you see a short description 
of the happiness of a life rightly employed, wholly de¬ 
voted to God, you must look at the man in the parable, 
to whom his Lord had given five talents. Lord^ says he, 
thou delrv crest unto-me five talents : behold^ I have gained 
besides them five talents more. His Lord said unto him^ 
Well done thou good and faithf ul servant; thou hast been 
faithful over a feno things.^ I nvill make thee ruler over 
many things ; enter thou into the joy of thy Lord. 

Here you see a life that is wholly intent upon the im¬ 
provement of the talents, that is devoted wholly unto 
God, is a state of happiness, prosperous labours, and glo¬ 
rious success. Here are not, as in a former case, any 
uneasy passions, murmurings, vain fears, and fruitless 
labours. The man is not toiling, and digging in the 
earth for no end or advantage; but his pious labours 
prosper in his hands, his happiness increases upon him, 
the blessing of five becomes the blessing of ten talents , 
and he is received with a Well done good and faithful 
servant., enter thou into the joy of thy Lord 

Now as the case of these men in the parable left no¬ 
thing else to their choice, but cither to be happy in using 
their gifts to the glory of the Lord, or miserable by using 
them according to their owm humours and fancies; so 
the state of Christianity leaves us no other choice. 

All that we have, all that we are, all that we enjov, 

N 


146 


A SERIOUS CALL TO A 


are only so many talents from God: if we use them to^ 
the ends of a pious and holy life, our five talents will 
become ten, and our labours will carry us into the joy 
of our Lord ; but if we abuse them to the gratifications 
of our own passions, sacrificing the gifts of-God to our 
own pride and vanity, we shall live here in vain labours 
and foolish anxieties, shunning religion as a melancholy 
thing, accusing our Lord as a hard master, and then fall 
into everlasting misery. 

We may for a while amuse ourselves with names, and 
sounds, and shadows of happiness; we may talk of this 
or that greatness and dignity ; but if we desire real hap¬ 
piness, we have no other possible way to it, but by im¬ 
proving our talents, by so holily and piously using the 
powers and faculties of men in this present state, that 
we may be happy and glorious in the powers and facul¬ 
ties of angels in the world to come. 

How ignorant therefore are they of the nature of re¬ 
ligion, of the nature of man, and the nature of God, who 
think a life of strict piety and devotion to God, t© be a 
dull and uncomfortable state; when it is so plain and 
certain, that there is neither comfort or joy to be found 
in any thing else ? 


CHAP. XH. 

I'he hafifiiness of a life wholly devoted unto God,farther 
firoved, from the vanity, the sensuality, the ridicu¬ 
lous, poor enjoyments, which they are forced to take 
7ifi with, who live according to their own humors. 
This represented in various characters. 

WE may still see more of the happiness of a life 
devoted unto God, by considering the poor contrivances 
for happiness, and the contemptible ways of life, which 
they are thrown into, who arc not under the directions 
of a strict piety, but seeking after happiness by other 
methods. 

If one looks at their lives^ who live by no rule but 


DBVOUT AND HOLY LllvL. 


147 


their own humours and fancies ; if one sees but what it 
is, which they call joy, and greatness, and happiness ; if 
one sees how they rejoice and repent, change and fly 
from one delusion to another; one shall find great rea¬ 
son to rejoice, that God hath appointed a strait and nar¬ 
row way that leadeth unto life, and that we are not left 
to the folly of our own minds, or forced to take up with 
such shadows of joy and happiness, as the weakness and 
folly of the world has invented. I say invented, because 
those things which make up the joy and happiness of 
this world, are mere inventions, which have no founda¬ 
tion in nature and reason, are no way the proper good 
or happiness of man, no way perfect either in his body, 
or his mind, or carry him to his true end. 

As for instance, when a man proposes to be happy in 
ways of ambition, by raising himself to some imaginary 
heights above other people ; this is truly an invention 
of happiness wliich has no foundation in nature, but 
is as mere a cheat of our own making, as if a man 
should intend to make himself happy by climbing up a 
ladder. 

If a woman seeks for a happiness from fine colours or 
spots upon her face, from jewels and rich clothes, this 
is as merely an invention of happiness, as contrary to na¬ 
ture and reason, as if she should propose to make herself 
happy, by painting a post, and putting the same finery 
upon it. It is in this respect that I call these joys and 
happiness of the world, mere inventions of happiness, 
because neither God, nor nature, nor reason hath ap¬ 
pointed them as such ; but w'hatever appears joyful, or 
great, or happy in them, is entirely created or invented 
by the blindness and vanity of our minds. 

And it is on these inventions of happiness, that I de¬ 
sire you to cast your eyes, that you may thence learn, 
how great a good religion is, which delivers you from 
such a multitude of follies and vain pursuits, as are the 
torment and vexation of minds, that wander from their 
true happiness in God. 

Look at Flatus, and learn how miserable they are, 
who are left to the folly of their own passions. 

Flatus is rich and in health, yet always uneasy, and 
always searching after happiness. Every time you visit 


J'i8 


A SERIOUS CALL TO A 


him, you find some new project in his head, he is eager 
upon it, as something that is more worth his while, and 
will do more for him, than any thing that is already past. 
Every new thing so seizes him, that if you was to take 
him from it, he would think himself quite undone. His 
sanguine temper, and strong passions, promise him so 
much happiness in every thing, that he is always cheat¬ 
ed, and is satisfied with nothing. 

At his first setting out in life, fine clothes was his de¬ 
light, his inquiry was only after the best tailors and pe¬ 
ruke-makers, and he had no thoughts of excelling in any 
thing but dress. He spared no expense, but carried 
every nicety to its greatest height. But this happiness 
not answering his expectations, he left off his brocades, 
put on a plain coat, railed at fops and beaux, and gave 
himself qp to gaming wuth great eagerness. 

This new pleasure satisfied him for some time, he 
envied no other way of life. But being by the fate of 
play drawn into a duel, where he narrowly escaped his 
death, he left off the dice, and sought for happiness no 
longer amongst the gamesters. 

1 he next thing that seized his wandering imagination, 
was the diversion of the town : and iov more than a 
twelve-month, you heard him talk of nothing but ladies 
drawirg-i ooms,birth-nights, plays, balls, and assemblies. 
But growing sick of these, he had recourse to hard 
dunking. Here he had many a merry night, and met 
with stronger joys than any he had felt before. Here 
he had thoughts of setting up his staff, and looking out 
no .arther; but unluckily falling into a fever, he grew 
angry at all strong liquors, and took his leave of the 
happiness of being drunk. 

The next attempt after happiness, carried him into the 
held, lor two or three years nothing was so happy as 
hunting ; he entered upon it with all his soul, and leaned 
more hedges and ditches than had ever been known in so 
short a time. You never saw him but in a green coat • 
he was the envy of all that blow the horn, and always 
spoke to his dogs in great propriety of language. If you 
met him at home in a bad day, you would hear him blow 
his horn, and be entertained with the surprising accidents 
of the last noble clu^se. No sooner had Flatus out- 


DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. . 


149 


done all the world in the breed and education of his dogs, 
built new kennels, new stables, and bought a new hunt¬ 
ing-seat, but he immediately got sight of another hap¬ 
piness, hated the senseless noise and hurry of hunting, 
gave away his dogs, and was for some time after deep 
in the pleasure of building. 

Now he invents new kinds of dove-cotes, and has such 
contrivances in his barns and stables, as were never 
seen before : he wonders at the dullness of the old builds 
ers, is wholly bent upon the improvement of architec¬ 
ture, and Avill hardly hang a door in the ordinary way. 
He tells his friends, that he never was so delighted in 
any thing in his life ; that he has more happiness amongst 
his brick and mortar, than ever he had at court; and that 
he is contriving how to have some little matter to do 
that way as long as he lives. 

The next year he leaves his house unfinished, com¬ 
plains to every body of masons and carpenters, and de¬ 
votes himself Avholly to the happiness of riding about. 
After this, you can never see him but on horse-back, and 
so highly delighted with this new way of life, that he 
would tell you, give him but his horse and a clean coun¬ 
try to ride in, and you might take all the rest to your¬ 
self. A variety of new saddles and bridles, and a great 
change of horses, added much to the pleasure of this 
new way of life. But, however, having after some time 
tired both himself and his horses, the happiest thing he 
could think of next, Avas to go abroad and visit foreign 
countries ; and there indeed happiness exceeded his im¬ 
agination, and he Avas only uneasy that he had begun so 
fine a life no sooner. The next month he returned 
home, unable to bear any longer the impertinence of 
foreigners. 

After this, he was a great student for one Avhole year ; 
he was up early and late at his Italian grammar, that he 
might have the happiness of understanding the opera, 
whenever he should hear one, and not be like those un¬ 
reasonable people, that are pleased Avith they do not 
knoAv Avhat. 

Flatus is very ill natured, or otherAvise, just as his af¬ 
fairs happen to be Avhen you visit him ; if you find him 
Avhen some project is almost Avorc out, you Avill find a 
N 2 


A SfiniOUS CALL TO A 


i'50 

peevish ill-bred man ; but if you had seen him just as he 
entered upon his riding regimen, or begun to excel im 
sounding of the horn, you had been saluted with great 
civility. 

Flatus is now at a full stand, and is doing what h^ 
never did in his life before, he is reasoning and re¬ 
flecting with himself. He loses several days, in con¬ 
sidering which of his east-off ways of life he should try 
again. 

But here a new project comes into his relief. He is 
now living upon herbs, and running about the country, 
to get himself into as good wind as any running footman 
in the kingdom. 

I have been thus circumstantial in so many foolish 
particulars of this kind, because I hope, that every par¬ 
ticular folly that you see here, will naturally turn itself 
into an argument for the wisdom and happiness of a re¬ 
ligious life. 

If I could lay before you a particular account of all 
the circumstances of terror and distress, that daily at¬ 
tend a life at sea, the more particular I was in the ac¬ 
count, the more I should make you feel and rejoice in. 
the happiness of living upon the land. 

In like manner, the more I enumerate the follies, 
anxieties, delusions,and restless desires which go through 
every part of a life devoted to human passions, and 
worldly enjoyments, the more you must be affected with 
that peace, and rest, and solid content, which religion 
gives to the souls of men. ^ 

If you had but just cast your eye upon a madman, or 
a fool, it perhaps signifies little or nothing to you ; but 
if you was to attend them for some days, and observe 
the lamentable madness and stupidity of all their actions, 
this would be an affecting sight, and would make you 
often bless yourself for the enjoyment of your reason 
and senses. 

Just so, if you are only told in the gross, of the folly 
and madness of a life devoted to the world, it makes 
little or no impression upon you; but if you are shewn 
how such people live every day ; if you see the con¬ 
tinual folly and madness of all their particular actions 
and designs, tins would be an affecting sight and make 


DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 


151 


you bless God, for having given you a greater happiness 
to aspire after. 

^ So that characters of this kind, the more folly and 
ridicule they have in them, provided that they be but 
natural, are most useful to correct our minds ; and 
therefore are no where more proper than in books of de¬ 
votion, and practical piety. And as in several cases we 
best learn the nature of things, by looking at that which 
is contrary to them ; so perhaps we best apprehend the 
excellency of wisdom, by contemplating the wild extra¬ 
vagances of folly. 

I shall therefore continue this method a little far¬ 
ther, and endeavour to recommend the happiness of 
piety to you ; by shewing you in some other instan¬ 
ces, how miserably and poorly they live, who live with¬ 
out it. 

But you will perhaps say, that the ridiculous, restless 
life of Flatus, is not the common state of those who re¬ 
sign themselves up to live by their own humours, and 
neglect the strict rules of religion ; and that therefore 
it is not so great an argument of the happiness of a re¬ 
ligious life, as I would make it. 

I answer, that I am afraid it is one of thfr most gene¬ 
ral characters in life and that few people can read it, 
without seeing something in it that belongs to them¬ 
selves. For where shall we find that wise and happy 
man, who has not been eagerly pursuing different ap¬ 
pearances of happiness, sometimes thinking it was here, 
and sometimes there I 

And if people were to divide their lives into particu¬ 
lar stages, and ask themselves what they were pursuing, 
or what it was v/hich they had chiefly in view, when 
they were twenty years old, what at twenty-five, what at 
thirty, what at forty, what at fifty, and so on, till they 
were brought to their last bed ; numbers of people 
would find, that they had liked and disliked, and pursu¬ 
ed as many different appearances of happiness, as are to 
be seen in the life of Flatus. 

And thus it must necessarily be, more or less with all 
these who propose any other happiness, than that which 
arises from a strict and regular piety. 

But secondly, Let it be granted, that the generality 


152 


A SELITOUS CALL TO A 


of people are not of such restless, fickle tempers as Fla ¬ 
tus ; the difference then is only this, Flatus is continu¬ 
ally changing and trying something new, but others are 
content with some one state ; they do not leave gaming, 
and then fail to hunting. But they have so much stea¬ 
diness in their tempers, that some seek after no other 
happiness, but that of heaping up riches ; others grow 
old in the sports of the field ; others are content to drink 
themselves to death, without the least inquiry after any 
other happiness. 

Now is there any thing more happy or reasonable, in 
such a life as this, than in the life of Flatus ? Is it not 
as great and desirable, as wise and happy, to be con¬ 
stantly changing from one thing to another, as to be 
nothing else but a gatherer of money, a hunter, a game¬ 
ster, or a drunkard all your life ? 

Shall religion be looked upon as a burden, as a dull 
and melancholy state, for calling men from such happi¬ 
ness as this, to live according to the laws of God, to 
labour after the perfection of their nature, and prepare 
themselves for an endless state of joy and glory in the 
presence of God ? 

But turn your eyes now another way, and let the tri¬ 
fling joys, the gewgaw happiness of Feliciana, teach 
you how wise they are, what delusion they escape, 
whose hearts and hopes are fixed upon an happiness in 
God. 

If you was to live with Feliciana but one half year, 
you would see all the happiness that she is to have as 
long as she lives. She has no more to come, but the 
poor repetition of that which could never have pleased 
once, but through a littleness of mind, and want of 
thought. 

She is again to be dressed fine, and keep her visiting 
day. She is again to change the colour of her clothes, 
again to have a new head, and again put patches on her 
face. She is again to see who acts best at the play¬ 
house, and who sings finest at the opera. She is again 
to make ten visits in a day, and be ten times in a day 
trying to talk artfully, easily and politely about no¬ 
thing. 

She is to be again delighted with some new fashion ; 


DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 


lo3 


and again angry at the change of some old one, She 
is to be again at cards, and gaming at midnight, and 
again in bed at noon. She is to be again pleased with 
hypocritical compliments, and again disturbed with im¬ 
aginary affronts. She is to be again pleased with her 
good luck at gaming, and again tormented with the loss 
of her money. She is again to prepare herself for a 
birth-night, and again see the town full of good com¬ 
pany. She is again to hear the cabals and intrigues of 
the town, again to have secret intelligence of private 
amours, and early notice of marriages, quarrels, and 
partings. 

If you see her come out of her chariot more briskly 
than usual, converse with more spirit, and seem fuller of 
joy than she was last week, it is because there is some 
surprising new dress, or new diversion just come to 
town. 

^ These are all the substantial and regular parts of Feli¬ 
ciana’s happiness; and she never knew a pleasant day 
in her life, but it was owing to some one, or more, of 
these things. 

It is for this happiness, that she has always been deaf 
to the reasonings of religion, that her heart has been too 
gay and cheerful to consider what is right or wrong in 
regard to eternity ; or to listen to the sound of such dull 
words, as wisdom, piety and devotion. 

It is for fear of losing some of this happiness, that 
she dares not meditate on the immortality of her soul, 
consider her relation to Gcd, to turn her thoughts to¬ 
wards those joys, which make saints and angels infinitely 
happy in the presence and glory of God. 

But now let it here be observed, that as poor a round 
of happiness as this appears, yet most women that avoid 
the restraints of religion for a gay life, must be content 
with very small parts of it. As they have not Feliciana’s 
fortune and figure in the world, so they must give away 
the comforts of a pious life, for a very small part of her 
happiness. 

And if you look into the world, and observe the lives 
of those women, whom no arguments can persuade to 
live wholly unto God, in a wise and pious employment 
t)f themselves, you will find most of thein to be such, 


154 


A SERIOUS CALL TO A 


as lose all the comforts of religion, without gaming tlie 
ienth part of Feliciana’s happiness. They are such 
as spend their time and fortunes only in mimicking the 
pleasures of richer people ; and rather look and long af¬ 
ter, than enjoy those delusions, which are only to be pur¬ 
chased by considerable fortunes. 

But if a w'oman of high birth, and great fortune, hav¬ 
ing read the gospel, should rather wish to be an under 
servant in some pious family, where wisdom, piety, and 
great devotion, directed all the actions of every day : if 
she should rather wish this, than to live at the top of Fe¬ 
liciana’s happiness : I should think her neither mad, nor 
melancholy ; but that she judged as rightly of the spirit 
of the gospel, as if she had rather wished to be poor 
Lazarus at the gate^ than to be the rich man clothed in 
purple and Jine linen^ and faring sumptuously every day. 

But to proceed : Would you know what an happiness 
it is, to be governed by the wisdom of religion, and be 
devoted to the joys and hopes of a pious life, look at the 
poor condition ot Sneens, whose greatest happiness, is a 
good night’s rest in bed, and a good meal when he is up» 
When he talks of happiness, it is always in such expres¬ 
sions, as shews you, that he has only his bed and his din¬ 
ner ill his thoughts. 

Tliis regard to his meals and repose, makes Succus 
order all the rest of his time with relation to them. He 
will undertake no business that may hurry his spirits, or 
break in upon his hours of eating and rest. If he reads, 
it shall only be for half an hour, because that is sufficient 
to amuse the spirits ; and he will read something that 
may make him laugh, as rendering the body fitter for its 
food and rest. Or if he has at any time a mind to in¬ 
dulge a grave thought, he always has recourse to a use¬ 
ful treatise upon the ancient cookery. Succus is an en¬ 
emy to all party matters, having made it an observation, 
that there is as good eating amongst the whigs as the 
torics. 

He talks coolly and moderately upon all subjects, and 
is as fearful of falling into a passion, as of catching cold; 
being very positive, that they are both ecjuaily injurious 
to the stomach. If you ever see him more hot than or¬ 
dinary, it is upon some provoking occasion, when th^ 


DEV OUT AND TIOLV LIFE. j 

elispute about cookery runs very high, or an the defence 
of some beloved dish, which has often made him happy 
But he has been so long upon these subjects, is so well 
acquainted with all that can be said on both sides, and 
has so often answered all objections, that he generally 
decides the matter with great gravity. ^ 

Succus is very loyal, and as soon as ever he likes any 
wine, he drinks the king’s health with ali his heart 
Nothing could put rebellious thoughts into his head, un^ 
less he Should live to see a proriamation against eating 
of pheasant’s eggs. ^ 

Ail the hours that are not devoted either to repose or 
nourishment, are looked iiponby Succusas waste or spare 
time. For this reason he lodges near a coffee-house and 
a tavern, that when he rises in the morning, he may hear 
the news, and when he parts at night, he may not have 
tar to bed. In the morning you always see him in the 
same place in the coffee-room, and if he seems more 
attentively engaged than orainary, it is because some 
criminal is broke out of Newgate, or some lady was rob- 
bed last night, but they cannot tell where. When he 
has learned all that he can, he goes home to settle the 
m^ter with the barber’s boy, tliat comes to shave him 
The next waste time that lies upon ins hands, is from 
dinner to supper. And if melancholy thougnts ever 
come into his head, it is at this time, when he is often 
left to himself for an hour or more, and that after the 
greatest pleasure he knows is just over. He is afraid to 
sleep, because he has heard it is not healtnful at that 
time, so that he is forced to refuse so welcome a guesu 
But here he is soon relieved by a settled met od of 
playing at cards, till it is time to think of some little nice 
matter for supper. 

After this, Succus takes his glass, talks of the cxccF 
lency of the English constitution, and praises that minis- 
ter the most who keeps the best table. 

On a Sunday night you may sometimes hear him con¬ 
demning the iniquity of the town rakes ; anci tiie bitterest 
thing that he says against them, is thir,, that he vetily 
believes some of them are so ahandonea, as not to have 
a regular meal, or a sound night’s sleep n a wei k. 

At eleven, Succus bids ali good night, and parts ip 


156 


A SERIOUS CALL TO A 


great friendship. He is presently in bed, and sleeps till 
it is time to go to the coffee-house next morning. 

If you was to live with Succus for a twelvemonth, this 
is all that you would see in his life, except a few curses 
and oaths that he uses as occasion offers. 

And now I cannot help making this reflection : 

That as I believe the most likely means in the world 
to inspire a person with true piety, was to have seen the 
example of some eminent professor of religion ; so the 
next thing that is likely to fill one with the same zeal, is 
to see the folly, the baseness, and poor satisfactions of a 
life destitute of religion. As the one exercises us to love 
and admire the wisdom and greatness of religion, so the 
other may make us fearful of living without it. 

For who can help blessing God for the means of grace, 
and for the hope of glory, when he sees what variety of 
folly they sink into, who live without it ? Who would 
not heartily engage in all the labours and exercises of a 
pious life, be steadfast, immoveable, and always abound¬ 
ing in the work of the Lord j when he sees what dull 
sensuality, what poor views, what gross enjoyments they 
are left to who seek for happiness in other ways. 

So that whether we consider the greatness of religion, 
or the littleness of all other things, and Ihe meanness of 
all other enjoyments, there is nothing to be found in the 
whole nature of things for a thoughtful mind to rest up¬ 
on, but a happiness in the hopes of religion. 

Consider now with yourself how unreasonably it is 
pretended, that a life of strict piety must be a dull and 
anxious state ? For can it with any reason be said, that 
the duties and restraints of religion must render our lives 
heavy and melancholy, when they only deprive us of such 
happiness, as has been here laid before you ? 

Must it be tedious and tiresome to live in the continual 
exercise of charity, devotion and temperance, to act 
wisely and virtuously, to do good to the utmost of your 
power, to imitate the divine perfections, and prepare 
yourself for the enjoyment of God ? Must it be dull and 
tiresome, to be delivered from blindness and vanity, from 
false hopes and vain fears, to improve in ijoliness, to feel 
the comforts of conscience in all your actions to know 
that God is your friend, that all must work for your 


DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 


157 


good, that neither life nor death, neither men nor devils, 
can do you any harm; but that all your sufferings and 
doings, that are offered unto God, all your watchings 
and prayers, and labours of love and charity, all your 
improvements, arc in a short time to be rewarded with 
everlasting glory in the presence of God ; must such a 
state as this be dull and tiresome for want of such hap¬ 
piness, as Flatus or Feliciana enjoys ? 

Now if this cannot be said, then there is no happiness 
or pleasure lost, by being strictly pious, nor has the de¬ 
vout man any thing to envy in any other state of life. 
For all the art and contrivance in the world, without 
religion, cannot make more of human life, or carry its 
happiness to any greater height, than Flatus or Feliciana 
have done. 

The finest wit, the greatest genius upon earth, if not 
governed^ by religion, must be as foolish, and low, and 
vain in his methods of happiness, as the poor Succus. 

If you was to see a man dully endeavouring all his 
life to satisfy his thirst, by holding up one and the same 
empty cup to his mouth, you would certainly despise his 
ignorance. 

But if you should see others of brighter parts, and 
finer understandings, ridiculing the dull satisfaction of 
one cup, and thinking to satisfy their own thirst by a 
variety of gilt and golden empty cups ; would you think 
that these were ever the wiser, or happier, or better em¬ 
ployed, for their finer parts ? 

Now this is all the difference that you can see in the 
happiness of this life. 

The dull and heavy soul may be content with one 
empty appearance of happiness, and be continually try¬ 
ing to hold one and the same empty cup to his mouth 
all his life. But then, let the wit, the great scholar, the 
fine genius, the great statesman, the polite gentleman, 
lay all their heads together, and they can only shew you 
more and various, empty appearances of happiness ; 
give them all the world into their hands, let them cut 
and carve as they please, they can only make a greater 
variety of empty cups. 

So that if you do not think it hard to be deprived of 
♦he pleasures of gluttony for the sake of religion, vou 

O 


i58 


A SERIOUS CALL TO A 


have no reason to think it hard to be restrained from 
any other worldly pleasure. For search as deep, and 
look as far as you will, there is nothing here to be found, 
that is nobler or greater than high eating and drinking, 
unless you look for it in the wisdom and laws of reli- 
gion. 

And if all that is in the world, are only so many emp¬ 
ty cups, what does it signify, which you take, or how 
many you take, or how many you have ? 

If you would but use yourself to such meditations as 
these, to reflect upon the vanity of all orders of life with¬ 
out piety, to consider how all the ways of the world, 
are so many different ways of error, blindness, and mis¬ 
take ; you would soon find your heart made wiser and 
better by it. These meditations would awaken your 
soul into a zealous desire of that solid happiness, which 
is only to be found in recourse to God. 

Examples of great piety are not now common in the 
world, it may not be your happiness to live within sight 
of any, or to have your virtue inflamed by their light 
and fervour. But the misery and folly of worldly men 
is what meets your eyes in every place, and you need 
not look far to see, how poorly, how vainly men dream 
away their lives for want of religious wisdom. 

This is the reason that I have laid before you so many 
characters of the vanity of a worldly life, to teach you to 
make a benefit of the corruption ^ the age, and that 
you may be made wise, though not by the sight of what 
piety is, yet by seeing what misery and folly reigns, 
where piety is not. 

If you would turn your mind to such reflections at 
these, your own observation would carry this instruc¬ 
tion much farther, and all your conversation and acquain¬ 
tance with the world, would be a daily conviction to you, 
of the necessity of seeking some greater happiness, than 
all the poor enjoyments this world can give. 

To meditate upon the perfection of the divine attri¬ 
butes, to contemplate the glories of heaven, to consider 
the joys of saints and angels living for ever in the bright¬ 
ness and glory of the divine presence; these are the 
meditations of souls advanced in piety, and not so suited 
to every capacity. 


DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 


159 


But to see and consider the emptiness and error of all 
woildly happiness ; to see the grossness of sensuality, the 
poorness of pride, the stupidity of covetousness, the va¬ 
nity of dress, the delusion of honour, the blindness of our 
passions, the uncertainty of our lives, and the shortness 
of our worldly projects; these are meditations that arc 
suited to all capacities, fitted to strike all minds ; they 
require no depth of thought to sublime speculation, but 
are forced upon us by all our senses, and taught us by 
almost every thing that we see and hear. 

This is that nvisdom that crieth, and 
fiutteth forth her voice in the streets^ that Prov. viii. I. 
standeth at all our doors, that appealeth 
to all our senses, teaching us in every thing and every 
where, by all that we see, and all that we hear, by births 
and burials, by sickness and health, by life and death, by 
pains and poverty, by misery and vanity, and by all the 
changes and chances of life ; that there is nothing else 
for man to look after, no other end in nature for him 
to drive at, but a happiness which is only to be found in 
the hopes and expectations of religion. 


CHAP. XIII. 

That not only a life of vanity, or sensuality, but even the 
most regular kind of life^ that is not governed by a 
great devotion ^sufficiently shevjs zYs miseries, wants, 
and emptiness, to the eyes of all the vjorld. This 
refiresented in various chai'acters. 

IT is a very remarkable saying of our Lord and 
Saviour to his disciples in these words : Blessed are your 
eyes for they see, and your ears for they hear. They 
teach us two things : First, that the dulness and heavi¬ 
ness of men*s minds, with regard to spiritual matters, is 
so great, that it may justly be compared to the want of 
eyes and ears. 

Secondly, that God has so filled every thing and 
every place with motives and arguments for a godly life 


160 


A SERIOUS CALL TO A 


that they who are but so blessed, so happy as to use their 
eyes and their ears, must needs be affected with them. 

Now, though this was in a more especial manner the 
case of those whose senses were witnesses of the life and 
miracles and doctrines of our blessed Lord ; yet it is as 
truly the case of ail Christians at this time. For the 
reasons of religion, the calls to piety are so written and 
engraved upon every thing, and present themselves so 
strongly and so constantly to all our senses in every thing 
that we meet; that they can only be disregarded by eyes 
that see not, and ears that hear not. 

What greater motive to a religious life, than the vani¬ 
ty, the poorness of all worldly enjoyments ; and yet who 
can help seeing and feeling this every day of his life ? 

What greater call to look towards God, than the 
pains, the sickness, the crosses, and vexations of this life; 
and yet whose eyes and ears are not daily witnesses of 
them ! 

What miracles could more strongly appeal to our 
senses, or what message from heaven speak louderto us, 
than the daily dying and departure of our fellow-crea¬ 
tures does ? 

So that the one thing needful, or the great end of life, 
is not left to be discovered by fine reasoning, and deep 
reflections ; but is pressed upon us in. the plainest man¬ 
ner, by the experience of all our senses, by every thing 
that we meet with in life. 

Let us but intend to see and hear, and then the whole 
world becomes a book of wisdom and instruction to us ; 
all that is regular in the order of nature, all that is acci¬ 
dental in the course of things, all the mistakes and dis¬ 
appointments that happen to ourselves, all the miseries 
and errors that we see in other people, become so many 
plain lessons of advice to us ; teaching us with as much 
assurance as an angel from heaven, that we can no ways 
raise ourselves to any true happiness, but by turning all 
our thoughts, our wishes, and endeavours, after the hap¬ 
piness of another life. 

It is this right use of the world that I would lead you 
ihto, by directing you to turn your eyes upon every 
shape of human folly, that you may thence draw fresh 


DEVOtJT AND HOLY LIFE. 


161 


arguments and motives of living to the best and greatest 
purposes of your creation. 

And if you would but carry this intention about you, 
of profiting by the follies of the world, and of learning 
the greatness of religion, from the littleness and vanity 
of every other way of life ; if, I say, you would but carry 
this intention in your mind, you would find every day, 
every place, and every person, a fresh proof of their wis¬ 
dom, who choose to live wholly unto God. You would 
then often return home, the wiser, the better, and the 
more strengthened in religion, by every thing that has 
fallen in your way. 

Octavius is a learned, ingenious man, well versed in 
most parts of literature, and no stranger to any kingdom 
in Europe. The other day, being just recovered from 
a lingering fever, he took upon him to talk thus to his 
friends. 

My glass, says he, is almost run out; and your eyes 
see how many marks of age and death I bear about me : 
but I plainly feel myself sinking away faster than any 
standers-by imagine. I fully believe, that one year more 
will conclude my reckoning. 

The attention of his friends was much raised by such 
a declaration, expecting to hear something truly excel¬ 
lent from so learned a man, who had but a year longer 
to live. When Octavius proceeded in this manner : for 
these reasons, says he, my friends, I have left off all 
taverns, the wine of those places is not good enough for 
me in this decay of nature. I must now be nice in what 
I drink ; I can not pretend to do as I have done ; and 
therefore am resolved to furnish my o-wn cellar with a 
little of the very best, though it cost me ever so much. 

I must also tell you^, my friends, that age forces a man 
to be wise in many other respects, and makes us change 
many of our opinions and practices^ 

You know how much I have liked a large acquain¬ 
tance : { now condemn it as an error. Three or four 
cheerful, diverting companions, is all that I now desire ; 
because I find that in my present infirmities, if 1 am 
left alone, or to grave company, I am not so easy to 
myself. 

A few days after Octavius had made this dcclaration- 

O 2 


A SEIilOUS CALL TO A 


i6-3 

to his friends, he relapsed into hh former illness, was 
committed to a nurse, who closed his eyes- before his 
fresh parcel of wine came in. 

Young Eugenius, who'was present at this discourscy 
went home a new man, with full resolutions of devoting' 
himself wholly unto God» 

I never, says Eugenius, was so deeply affected with 
the wisdom and importance of religion, as when I saw 
how poorly and meanly the learned Octavius was to leave 
the world through the want of it. 

How often had I envied his great learning, his skill 
in language, his knowledge of antiquity, his addi'ess, and 
fine manner of expressing himself upon all subjects ! 
But when I saw how poorly it all ended, what was to be 
the last year of such a life, and how foolishly the master 
of all these accomplishments was then forced to talk, for 
want of being acquainted with the joys and expectations 
of piety : I was thoroughly convinced, that there was 
nothing to be envied or desired, but a life of true piety : 
nor any thing so poor and comfortless, as a death with¬ 
out it. 

Now as the young Eugenius was thus edified and in¬ 
structed in the present case j so if you are so happy as 
to have any thing of this thoughtful temper, you will 
meet with variety of instruction of this kindyou will 
find that arguments for the wisdom and happiness of a 
strict piety, offer themselves in all places, and appeal to 
all your senses in the plainest manner. 

You will find, that all the world preaches to an at¬ 
tentive mind ; and that if you have but ears to hear, al¬ 
most every thing you meet, teaches you some lesson of 
wisdom. 

But now, if to these admonitions and instructions, 
which we receive from our senses, from an experience 
of the state of human life ; if to these we add the lights 
of religion, those great truths which the son of God has 
taught us; will be then as much past all doubt, that 
there is but one happiness for man, as that there is but 
one God. 

For since religion teaches us that our souk are im¬ 
mortal, that piety and devotion will carry them to an 
eternal enjoyment of Cod; and that carnal, worldly 


DEVOUT AND HOLY LIM. 




tempers will sink them into an everlasting misery with 
damned spirits ; what gross nonsense and stupidity is it 
to give the name of joy or happiness to any thing but 
that which carries us to this joy and happiness in God ? 

Was all to die with our bodies, there might be some 
pretence for those diiftrent sorts of happiness, that are 
so much talked of: but since our all begins at the death 
of our bodies ; since ail men are to be immortal either 
in misery or happiness, in a world entirely different from 
this; since they are all hastening hence at all uncertain¬ 
ties, as fast as death can cut them down ; some in sick¬ 
ness, some in health, some sleeping, some waking, some 
at midnight, others at cock-crowing, and all at hours 
that they know not of; is it not certain that no man can 
exceed another in joy and happiness, but so far as he 
exceeds him in those virtues which fit him for a happier 
death ? 

Cognatus is a sober, regular clergyman, of good re¬ 
pute in the world, and well esteemed in his parish. All 
his parishioners say he is an honest man, and very nota¬ 
ble at making a bargain. The farmers listen to him 
with great attention, when he talks of the properest time 
of selling corn. 

He has been for t\venty years a diligent observer of 
markets, and has raised a considerable fortune by good 
management. 

Cognatus is very orthodox and full of esteem for our 
English Liturgy ; and if he has no prayers on Wednes¬ 
day’s and Friday’s it is because his predecessor had not 
used the parish to any such custom. 

As he cannot serve both his livings himself, so he 
makes it matter of conscience to keep a sober curate 
upon one of them, whom he hires to take care of all the 
souls in the parish, at as cheap a rate as a sober man 
can be procured. 

Cognatus has been very prosperous all his time ; but 
still he has had the uneasiness and vexations that they 
have, who are deep in worldly business. Taxes, losses, 
crosses, bad mortgages, bad tenants, and the hardness of 
the times, are frequent subjects of his conversation ; and 
a good or a bad season has a great effect upon his spirits. 
Cognatus has no other end in growing rich, but that 


164 


A SERIOUS CALL TO A 


he may leave a considerable fortune to a niece, whom 
he has politely educated in expensive finery, by what he 
has saved out of the tythes of two livings. 

The neighbours look upon Cognatus as an happy 
clergyman, because they see him (as they call it) in good 
circtimstances; and some of them intend to dedicate 
their own sons to the church, because they see how well 
it has succeeded with Cognatus, whose father was but an 
ordinary man. 

But now if Cognatus when he first entered into holy 
orders, had perceived how absurd a thing it is to grow 
rich by the gospel: if he had proposed to himself the 
example of some primitive father; if he had had the 
piety of the great St. Austin in his eye, who durst not 
enrich any of his relations out of the revenue of the 
church : if, instead of twenty years care to lay up trea¬ 
sures upon earth, he had distributed the income of every 
year in the most Christian acts of charity and compas¬ 
sion. 

If, instead of tempting his neice to be proud, and pro¬ 
viding her with such ornaments, as the Apostle forbids, 
he had clothed, comforted, and assisted numbers of 
widows, orphans, and distressed, who were all to appear 
for him at the last day. 

If, instead of the cares and anxieties of bad bonds^ 
troublesome mortgages and ill bargains, he had had the 
constant comfort of knowing that his treasure was 
securely laid up, where neither moth corrupteth, nor 
thieves break through and steal; could it with any rea¬ 
son be said, that he had mistaken the spirit and dignity 
of his order, or lessened any of that happiness which is- 
to be found in his sacred employments ? 

If, instead of rejoicing in the happiness of a second 
living, he had thought it as unbecoming the office of a 
clergyman to traffic for gain in holy things, as to open 
a shop. 

If he had thought it better to recommend some honest 
labour to his niece, than to support her in idleness by 
the labours of a curate ; better that she should want fine 
clothes and a rich husband, than the curse of souls should 
be farmed about, and brother clergymen not suffered to 
live by those altars, at which they serve. If this had 


DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 


165 


been the spirit of Cognatiis, could it with any reason be 
said, that these rules of religion, this strictness of piety, 
had robbed Cognatus of any real happiness ? Could it 
" be said, that a life thus governed by the spirit of the 
gospel, must be dull and melancholy, if compared to 
that of raising a fortune for a niece ? 

Now as this cannot be said in the present case, so in 
every other kind of life, if you enter into the particulars 
of it, you will find, that however easy and prosperous it 
may seem, yet you cannot add piety to any part of it, 
without adding so much of a better joy and happiness 
to it. 

Look now at that condition of life, which draws the 
envy of all eyes. 

Negotius is a temperate honest man. He served his 
time under a master of great trade, but has by his own 
management made it a more considerable business than 
ever it was before. For thirty years last past, he has 
wrote fifty or sixty letters in a week, and is busy in cor¬ 
responding with all parts of Europe. The general good 
of trade seems to Negotius to be the general good of 
life; whomsoever he admires,whatever he commends or 
condemns, either in church or state, is admired, com¬ 
mended, or condemned, with some regard to trade. 

As money is continually pouring in upon him, so he 
often Jets it go in various kinds of expense and genero¬ 
sity, and sometimes in ways of charity. 

Negotius is always ready to join in any public con¬ 
tribution : if a purse is making at any place where he 
happens to be, whether it be to buy a plate for a horse¬ 
race, or to redeem a prisoner out of jail, you are always 
sure of having something from him. 

He has given a fine ring of bells to a church in the 
^ country: and there is much expectation that he will 
some time or other make a more beautiful front to the 
market-house, than has been seen in any place. For it 
is the generous spirit of Negotius to do nothing in a 
mean way. 

If you ask what it is, that has secured Negotius from 
all scandalous vices, it is the same thing that has kept 
him from all strictness of devotion, it is his great business. 
He has always had too many important things in his 


166 


A SERIOUS CALL TO A 


head, his thoughts have been too much employed to 
suffer him to fall either into any courses of mkery, or to 
feel the necessity of an inward, solid piety. 

For this reason he hears of the pleasures of debauche¬ 
ry, and the pleasures of piety, with the same indiffer¬ 
ence ; and has no more desire of living in the one than 
in the other, because neither of them consist with that 
turn of mind and multiplicity of business, which are his 
happiness. 

If Negotius was asked, what it is that he drives at in 
life ? he would be as much at a loss for an answer, as if 
he was asked, what any other person is thinking of. 
For though he always seems to himself to know what 
he is doing, and has many things in his liead, which are 
the motives of his actions; yet he cannot tell you of 
any one general end of life, that he has chosen with de¬ 
liberation, as being truly worthy of all his labour and 
pains. 

He has several confused notions in his head, which 
have been a long time there ; such as these, viz. That 
it is something great to have more business than other 
people, to have more dealings upon his hands than au 
hundred of the same profession ; to grow continually 
richer and richer, and to raise an immense fortune before 
he dies. The thing that seems to give Negotius the 
greatest life and spirit, and to be most in his thoughts, 
is an expectation that he shall die richer than any of his 
business ever did. 

The generality of people, ^\dien they think of happi¬ 
ness, think upon Negotius, in whose life every instance 
of happiness is supposed to meet; sober, prudent, rich, 
prosperous, generous, and charitable. 

Let us now therefore look at this condition in anothet 
but truer light. 

Let it be supposed, that this same Negotius was a 
painfub laborious man, every day deep in variety of af¬ 
fairs ; that he neither drank nor debauched, but was 
sober and regular in his business. Let it be supposed that 
he grew old in this course of trading; and that the end 
and design ot all this labour, and care and application to 
business, was only this, that he might die possessed of 


DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE, 


W 

more tlian an hundred thousand pair of boots and spurs, 
and as many great coats. 

Let it be supposed, that the sober part of the world 
say of him when he is dead, that he was a great and hap¬ 
py man, a thorough master of business, and had acquir¬ 
ed an hundred thousand pair of boots and spurs when 
he died. 

Now if this was really the case, I believe it would be 
readily granted, that a life of such business was as poor 
and ridiculous as any that can be invented. But it 
would puzzle any one to shew, that a man that has spent 
all his time and thoughts in business and hurry, that he 
might die, as it is said, worth an hundred thousand 
pounds, is any whit wiser than he, who has taken the 
same pains to have as many pair of boots and spurs 
when he leaves the world. 

For if the temper and state of our souls be our whole 
state ; if the only end of life be to die as free from sin, 
and as exalted in virtue as we can ; if naked as we 
came, so naked are we to return, and to stand a trial 
before Christ, and his holy angels, for everlasting happi¬ 
ness or misery ; what can it possibly signify what a man 
had, or had not, in this world ? What can it signify what 
you call those things which a man has left behind him ; 
whether you call them his, or any one’s else ; whether 
you call them trees or fields, or birds and feathers; wheth¬ 
er you call them an hundred thousand pounds, or an hun¬ 
dred thousand pair of boots and spurs ? I say, call them ; 
for the things signify no more to him than the names. 

Now it is easy to see the folly of a life thus spent, to 
furnish a man with such a number of boots and spurs. 
But yet there needs no better faculty of seeing, no finer 
understanding, to see the folly of a life spent in making 
a man a possessor of ten towns before he dies. 

For if when he has got all his towns, or all his boots, 
his soul is to go to his own place among separate spirits, 
and his body be laid by in a coffin, till the last trumpet 
calls him to judgment; where the inquiry will be, how 
humbly, how devoutly, how purely, how meekly, how 
piously, how charitably, how heavenly we have spoke, 
thought and acted, whilst we were in the body; how can 
we say, that he who has wore out his life in raising an 


168 


A SERIOUS CALL TO A 


hundred thousand pounds, has acted wiser for himself, 
than he who has had the same care to procure an hun¬ 
dred thousand of any thing else ? 

But farther ; Let it now be supposed, that Negotius, 
when he first entered into business, happening to read 
the gospel with attention, and eyes open, found that he 
had a much greater business upon his hands, than that 
to which he had served an apprenticeship: that there 
were things which belong to man of much greater im¬ 
portance than all that our eyes can see; so glorious, as 
to deserve all our thoughts; so dangerous, as to need 
our care; and so certain, as never to deceive the faith¬ 
ful labourer. 

Let it be supposed, that from reading this book he 
had discovered that his soul was more to him than his 
body; that it was better to grow in the virtues of the 
soul, than to have a large body or a full purse ; that it 
was better to be fit for heaven, than to have a variety of 
fine houses upon the earth ; that it was better to secure 
an everlasting happiness, than to have plenty of things 
which he cannot keep ; better to live in habits of hu¬ 
mility, piety, devotion, charity, and self-denial, than to 
die unprepared for judgment; better to be most like 
our Saviour, or some eminent saint, than to excel all 
the tradesmen in the world, in business and bulk of for¬ 
tune. 

Let it be supposed, that Negotius believing these 
things to be true, entirely devoted himself to God at his 
first setting out in the world, resolving to pursue his 
business no farther than was consistent with great de¬ 
votion, humility, and self-denial; and for no other ends, 
but to provide himself with a sober subsistence, and to 
do all the good that he could, to the souls and bodies of 
his fellow-creatures. 

^ Let it therefore be supposed, that instead of the con¬ 
tinual hurry of business, he was frequent in his retire¬ 
ments, and a strict observer of all the hours of prayer ; 
that instead of restless desires after more riches, his soul 
had been full of the love of God and heavenly affection, 
constantly watching against worldly tempers, and al¬ 
ways aspiring after divine grace; that instead of worldly 
cares and contrivances, he was busy in fortifying his 


DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 


169 


soul against all approaches of sin; that instead of costly 
shew and expensive generosity of a splendid life, he 
loved and exercised all instances of humility and lowli¬ 
ness; that instead of great treats and full tables, his 
house only furnished a sober refreshment to those that 
wanted it. 

Let it be supposed, that his contentment kept him 
free from all kinds of envy. That his piety made him 
thankful to God in all crosses and disappointments. 
That his charity kept him from being rich, by a con¬ 
tinual distribution to all objects of compassion. 

Now had this been the Christian spirit of Negotius, 
can any one say, that he had lost the true joy and hap¬ 
piness of life, by thus conforming to the spirit, and living 
up to the hopes of the gospel. 

Can it be said, that a life made exemplary by such 
virtues as these, which keep heaven always in our sight,- 
which both delight and exalt the soul here, and prepare 
it for the presence of God hereafter, must be poor and 
dull, if compared to that of heaping up riches, which 
can neither stay with us, nor we with them ? 

It would be endless to multiply examples of this kind, 
to shew you how little is lost, and how much is gained, 
by introducing a strict and exact piety into every con¬ 
dition of human life. 

I shall now therefore leave it to your own meditation, 
to carry this way of thinking farther, hoping that you 
are enough directed by what is here said, to convince 
yourself, that a true and exalted piety is so far from 
rendering any life dull and tiresome, that it is the only 
joy and happiness of every condition in the world. 

Imagine to yourself some person in a consumption, 
or any other lingering distemper that was incurable. 

If you was to see such a man wholly intent upon do¬ 
ing every thing in the spirit of religion, making the 
wisest use of all his time, fortune, and abilities. If he 
was for carrying every duty of piety to its greatest 
height, and striving to have all the advantage that could 
be had from the remainder of his life. If he avoided 
all business, but such as was necessary ; if he was averse 
to ail the follies and vanities of the world, had no taste 
for finery and shew, but sought for all his comfort in the 


A SERIOUS CALL TO A 


m 

hopes and expectations of religion ; you would certainly 
commend his prudence, you would say, that he had 
taken the right method to make himself as joyful and 
happy, as any one can be in a state of such infirmity. 

On the other hand, if you should see the same per¬ 
son, with trembling hands, short breath, thin jaws, and 
hollow eyes, wholly intent upon business and bargains, 
as long as he could speak. If you should see him pleas¬ 
ed with fine clothes, when he could scarce stand to be 
dressed, and laying out his money in horses and dogs, 
rather than purchase the prayers of the poor for his 
soul, which was so soon to be separated from his ‘body, 
you would certainly condemn him, as a weak, silly man. 

Now as it is easy to see the reasonableness, the wisdom 
and happiness of a religious spirit in a consumptive man ; 
so if you pursue the same way of thinking, you will as 
easily perceive the same wisdom and happiness of a 
pious temper in every other state of life. 

For how soon will every man that is in health, be in 
the state of him that is in a consumption ? How soon 
will he want all the same comforts and satisfactions of 
religion, which every dying man wants ? 

And if it be wise and happy to live piously, because 
we have not above a year to live, is it not being more 
wise, and making ourselves more happy, because we 
may have more years to come ? If one year of piety be¬ 
fore we die, is so desirable, is not more years of piety 
much more desirable ? 

If a man had five fixed years to live, he could not 
possibly think at all, without intending to make the best 
use of them all. When he saw his stay so short in this 
world, he must needs think that this was not a world 
for him; and when he saw how near he was to another 
world, that was eternal, he must surely think it very 
necessary to be very diligent in preparing himself for 
it. 

Now as reasonable as piety appears in such a circum¬ 
stance of life, it is yet more reasonable in every circum¬ 
stance of life, to every thinking man. 

For who but a madman can reckon that he has five 
years certain to com^ ? 

And if it be reasonable and necessary to deny our 


DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 


in 


worldly tempers, and live wholly vinto God, because we 
are certain that we are to die at the end of five years ; 
surely it must be more reasonable and necessary for us 
to live in the same spirit, because we have no certainty 
that we shall live five weeks. 

Again, if wc were to add twenty years to the five, 
which is in all probability more than will be added to 
the lives of many people who are at man’s estate ; what 
a poor thing is this ! how’^ small a difference is there be¬ 
tween five and twenty-five years ? 

It is said, that a day is with God as a thousand years, 
and a thousand years as one day; because, in regard to 
his eternity, this difference is as nothing. 

Now as we are all created to be eternal, to live in an 
endless succession of ages upon ages, where thousands, 
and millions of thousands of years will have no propor¬ 
tion to our everlasting life in God ; so wdth regard to 
this eternal state, which is our real state, tw'enty-five 
years is as poor a pittance as twenty-five days. 

Now we can never make any true judgment of time 
as it relates to us, w ithout considering the true state of 
our duration. If we are temporary beings, then a little 
time may justly be called a great deal in relation to us ; 
but if we are eternal beings, then the difference of a few 
years is as nothing. 

If we w'ere to suppose three different sorts of rational 
beings, all of different but fixed duration, one sort that 
lived certainly only a month, the other a year, and the 
third an hundred years. 

Now if these things were to meet together, and talk 
about time, they must talk in a very different language ; 
half an hfiir to those that were to live but a month, must 
be a very different thing, to w'hat it is to those wdio are 
to live an hundred years. 

As therefore time is thus a different thing with regard 
to the state of those who enjoy it, so if we would know 
what time is with regard to ourselves, wc must consider 
our state. 

Now since our eternal state is as certainly ours, as 
our present state ; since we are as certainly to live for 
ever, as We now live at all; it is plain that we cannot 
judge of the value of any particvilar time, as to us, but 


A SERIOUS CALL TO A 


L72 

by comparing it to that eternal duration for which we 
are created. 

If you would know, what five years signify to a being 
that was lo live an hundred, you must compare five to 
an hundred, and see what proportion it bears to it, and 
then you will judge right. 

So if you would know What twenty years signify to a 
son of Adam, you must compare it, not to a million of 
ages, but to an eternal duration, to which no number of 
millions bears any proportion ; and then you will judge 
right by finding nothing. 

Consider therefore this ; how would you condemn the 
folly of a man, that should lose his share of future glory, 
for the sake of being rich, or great, or praised, or de¬ 
lighted in any enjoyment, only one poor day before he 
was to die ! 

But if the time will come, when a number of years 
will seem less to every one, than a day does now ; what 
a condemnation must it then be, if eternal happiness 
should appear to be lost, for something less than the en¬ 
joyment of a day ! 

Why does a day seem a trifle to us now ? It is because 
we have years to set against it. It is the duration of 
years that makes it appear as nothing. 

What a trifle therefore must the years of a man’s age 
appear, when they are forced to be set against eternity, 
when there shall be nothing but eternity to compare 
them with I 

Now this will be the case of every man, as soon as 
he is out of the body ; he will be forced to forget the 
distinctions of days and years, and to measure time, 
not by the course of the sun, but by setting it against 
eternity, 

As the fixed stars, by reason of our ])eing placed at 
such distance from them, appear but as so many points ; 
so when yre are placed in eternity, we shall look back 
upon all time, and it will all appear but as a moment. 

Then a luxury, an indulgence, a prosperity, a great¬ 
ness, of fifty years, will seem to every one that looks 
back upon it, as the same poor short enjoyment, as if he 
bad been snatched away in his first sin. 

These few reflections upon time, are only to shev/ 


DEVOlrT AND HOLY LIFE. 


how poorly they think, how miserably they judge, who 
are less careful of an eternal state, because they may be 
at some years distance from it, than they would be, if 
they knew they were within a few weeks of it. 


CHAP. XIV. 

Concerning that fiart of devotion which relates to times 
and hours of prayer. Of daily early prayer in the 
morning. How we are to improve our forms of 
prayer^ and how to increase the spirt of devotion, 

HAVING in the foregoing chapters shewn the 
necessity of a devout spirit, or habit of mind in every 
part of our common life, in the discharge of all our bu¬ 
siness, in the use of all the gifts of God ; I come now to 
consider that part of devotion, which relates to times 
and hours of prayer. 

I take it for granted, that every Christian,^ that is 
in health, is up early in the morning; for it is much 
more reasonable to suppose a person up early, because 
he is a Christian, than because he is a labourer, or a 
tradesman, or a servant, or has business that wants 
him. 

We naturally conceive some abhorrence of a man 
that is in bed, when he should be at his labour, or in 
his shop. We cannot tell how to think any thing good 
of hin>, who is such a slave to drowsiness, as to neglect 
his business for it. 

Let this therefore teach us to concieve, how odious 
we must appear in the sight of heaven, if we are in bed, 
shut up in sleep and darkness, wlien we should be prais¬ 
ing God ; and are such slaves to drowsiness, as to ne¬ 
glect our devotions for it. 

For if he is to be blamed as a slothful drone, that ra¬ 
ther chooses the lazy indulgence of sleep, than to per¬ 
form his proper share of worldly business ; how much 
is he to be reproached, that had rather lie folded up in 

P -2 


174 


A SERIOUS CALL TO A 


a bed, than be raising up his heart to God in acts of 
praise and adoration ? 

Prayer is the nearest approach to God and the high¬ 
est enjoyment of him, that we are capable of in this iife. 

It is the noblest exercise of the soul, the most exalted 
use of our best faculties, and the highest estimation of 
the blessed inhabitants of heaven. 

When our hearts are full of God, sending up holy 
desires to the throne of grace, we are then in onr 
highest state, we are upon the utmost heights of human 
greatness; we are not before kings and princes, but in 
the presence and audience of the Lord of all the workf, 
and can be no higher, till death is swallowed up in 
glory. 

On the other hand, sleep is the poorest, dullest re¬ 
freshment of the body, that is so far from being in¬ 
tended as an enjoyment, that we are forced to re¬ 
ceive it either in a state of insensibility, or in the folly 
of dreams. 

Sleep is such a dull, stupid state of existence, that 
even amongst mere animals, we despise them most, 
which are most drowsy. He therefore that chooses to 
enlarge the slothful indulgence of sleep, rather than be 
early at his devotions to God ; chooses the dullest re¬ 
freshment of the body, before the highest, noblest em¬ 
ployment of the soul ; he chooses that state, which is a 
reproach to mere animals, rather than that exercise^ 
which is the glory of angels. 

You will perhaps say, though you rise late, yet you 
are always careful of your devotions when you are 
up. 

It may be so. But what then ? Is it well done of 
you to rise late, because you pray when you are up ? 
Is it pardonable to waste great part of the day in bed 
because some time after you say your prayers ? 

It is as much your duty to rise to pray, as to pray 
when you are risen. And if you gre late at your pray¬ 
ers, you offer to God the prayers of an idle, slothful 
worshipper, that rises to prayers, as idle servants rise to 
their labour. 

Farther, if you fancy that you are careful of your de- 
#otions, when you are up, though it be your custom to 


DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 


17& 


rise late, you deceive yourself; for you cannot perform 
your devotions as you ought. For he that cannot deny 
himself this drowsy indulgence,but must pas^ away good 
part of the morning in it, is no more prepared for prayer 
when he is up, than he is prepared for fasting, absti¬ 
nence, or any other self-denial. He may indeed more 
easily read over a form of prayer, than he can perform 
these duties; but he is no more disposed to enter into 
the true spirit of prayer, than he is disposed to fasting. 
For sleep thus indulged, gives a softness and idleness to 
all our tempers, and makes us unable to relish any 
thing, but what suits with an idle state of mind, and 
gratifies our natural tempers as sleep does. So that a 
person that is a slave to this idleness, is in the same 
temper when he is up ; and though he is not asleep, yet 
he is under the effects of it: and every thing that is idle, 
indulgent, or sensual, pleases him for the same reason 
that sleep pleases him ; and on the other hand, every 
thing that requires care, or trouble, or self-denial, is 
hateful to him, for the same reason that he hates to rise. 
He that places any happiness in this morning indulgence, 
would be glad to have all the day made happy in the 
same manner y though not with sleep, yet with such 
enjoyment as gratify and indulge the body in the same 
manner as sleep does ; or at least, with such as come as 
near to it as they can. The remembrance of a warm 
bed is in his mind all the day, and he is glad when he is 
not one of those that sit starving in a church. 

Now you do not imagine that such a one can truly 
mortify that body which he thus indulges; yet you 
might as well think this, as that he can truly perform 
his devotions ; or live in such a drowsy state of indul¬ 
gence, and yet relish the joys of a spiritual life. 

For surely no one will pretend to say, that he knows 
and feels the true happiness of prayer, tvho does not 
think it worth his while to be early at it. 

It is not possible in nature for an epicure to be truly 
devout; he must renounce this habit of sensuality, be¬ 
fore he can relish the happiness of devotion. 

Now he that turns sleep into an idle indulgence, does 
as much to corrupt and disorder his soul, to make it a 
slave to bodily appetites, and keep it incapable of all 


A SERIOUS CALL TO A 


176 

devout and heavenly tempers, as he that turns the ne¬ 
cessities of eating into a course of indulgence. 

A person that eats and drinks too much, does not feel 
such effects from it, as those do who live in notorious 
instances of gluttony and intemperance; but yet his 
course of indulgence, though it be not scandalous in the 
eyes of the world, nor such as torments his own con¬ 
science, is a great and constant hindrance to his improve¬ 
ment in virtue ; it gives him eyes that see not, and ears 
that hear not *, it creates a sensuality in the soul, increa¬ 
ses the power of bodily passions, and makes him inca¬ 
pable of entering into the true spirit of religion. 

Now this is the case of those who waste their time in 
sleep; it does not disorder their lives, or wound their 
consciences, as notorious acts of intemperance do ; but 
like any other more moderate course of indulgence, it 
silently, and by smaller degrees, wears away the spirit 
of religion, and sinks the soul into a state of dulness and 
sensuality. 

If you consider devotion only as a time of so much 
prayer, you may perhaps perform it, though you live 
in this daily indulgence ; but if you consider it as a state 
of the heart, as a lively fervour of the soul, that is deeply 
affected with a sense of its own misery and infirmi¬ 
ties, and desiring the spirit of God more than all things 
in the world, you will find that the spirit of indulgence, 
and the spirit of prayer, cannot subsist together. Mor¬ 
tification of all kinds, is the very life and soul of piety: 
but he that has not so small a degree of it, as to be 
able to be early at his prayers, can have no reason to 
think that he has taken up his cross, and is following 
Christ. 

What conquest has he got over himself ? What right 
hand has he cut off I What trials is he prepared for ? 
What sacrifice is he ready to offer unto God ? Who 
cannot be so cruel to himself, as to rise to prayer at such 
time, as the drudging part of the world are content to 
rise to their labour. 

Some people will not scruple to tell you, that they in¬ 
dulge themselves in sleep, because they have nothing to 
do; and that if they had either business or pleasure to 
rise to they 'A'ould not lose so much of their time in sleep. 


DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 


1??' 


But such people must be told, that they mistake the 
matter; that they have a great deal of business to do ; 
they have a burdened heart to change ; they have the 
whole spirit of religion to get. For surely, he that 
thinks devotion to be of less moment than business or 
pleasure ; or that he has nothing to do, because nothing 
but his prayers want him, may be justly said to have the 
whole spirit of religion to seek. 

You must not therefore consider, how small a crime 
it is to rise late, but you must consider how great a 
misery it is to want the spirit of religion ; to have a heart 
not rightly affected with prayer; and to live in such 
softneU and idleness, as makes you incapable of the 
most fundamental duties of a truly Christian and spiri¬ 
tual life. 

This is the right way of judging of the crime of wast¬ 
ing great part.of your time in bed. 

You must not consider the thing barely in itself, but 
what it proceeds from; what virtues it shews to be 
wanting; what vices it naturally strengthens. For every 
habit of this kind discovers the state of the soul, and 
plainly shews the whole turn of your mind. 

If our blessed Lord used to pray early before day; 
if he spent whole nights in prayer ; if the devout Anna 
was day and night in the temple : if St. Paul and Silas 
at midnight sang praises unto God ; if the primitive 
Christians, for several hundred years, beside their hours 
of prayer in the day-time, met publicly in the churches 
at midnight, to join in psalms and prayers, is it not cer¬ 
tain that these practices shewed the state of their hearts ? 
are they not so many plain proofs of the whole turn of 
their minds ? 

And if you live in a contrary state, wasting great part 
of every day in sleep, thinking any time soon enough to 
be at your prayers ; is it not equally certain, that this 
practice as much shews the state of your heart, and the 
whole turn of your mind ? 

So that if this indulgence is your way of life, you have 
as much reason to believe yourself destitute of the true 
spirit of devotion, as you have to believe the apostles 
and saints of the primitive church were truly devout. 
For as their way of life was a demonstration of their 


178 


A SERIOUS CALL TO A 


devotion, so a contrary way of life is as strong a proofs 
of a want of devotion. 

When you read the scriptures, you see a religion that 
is all life, and spirit, and joy in God ; that supposes our 
soul risen from earthly desires, and bodily indulgences, 
to prepare for another body, another world, and other 
enjoyments. You see Christians represented as temples 
of the Holy Ghost, as children of the day, as candidates 
for an eternal crown, as watchful virgins, that have their 
lamps always burning in expectation of the bridegroom. 
But can he be thought to have this joy in God, this care 
of eternity, this watchful spirit, who has not zeal enough 
to rise to his prayers ? 

When you look into the writings and lives of the first 
Christians, you see the same spirit that you see in the 
scriptures. All is reality, life, and action. Watchings 
and prayers, self-denial and mortification, was the com¬ 
mon business of their lives. 

From that time to this, there has been no person like 
them, eminent for piety, who has not, like them, been 
eminent for self-denial and mortification. This is the 
only royal w^ay that leads to a kingdom. 

But how far are you from this way of life, or rather 
how contrary to it, if, instead of imitating their austerity 
and mortification, you cannot so much as renounce so 
poor an indulgence, as to be able to rise to your prayers ? 
If self-denials and bodily sufferings, if watchings and 
fastings, will be marks of glory at the day of judgment, 
where must we hide our heads, that have slumbered 
away our time in sloth and softness ? 

\ou perhaps now find some pretences, to excuse 
yourself from that severity of fasting and self-denial, 
winch the first Christians practised. You fancy that 
human nature is grown weaker, and that the difference 
of climates may make it not possible for you to observe 
their methods of self-denial and austerity, in these colder 
countries. 

But all this is but pretence ; for the change is not in 
the outward state of things, but in the inward state of 
our minds.^ When there is the same spirit in us, that 
thei^ was in the apostles, and primitive Christians, when 
we feel the weight of religion, as they did; when we 


DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 


m 


have their faith and hope, we shall take up our cross and 
deny ourselves, and live in such methods of mortification 
as they did. 

Had St. Paul lived in a cold country, had he had a 
constitution made weak with a sickly stomach, and 
other infirmities, he would have done as he advised 
Timothy, he would have mixed a little wine with his 
water. 

But still he would have lived in a state of self-denial 
and mortification. Ke would have given this same ac¬ 
count of himself. “ I therefore so run, not as uncertain¬ 
ly, so fight I, not as one that heateth the air ; but I keep 
under my body and bring it into subjection, lest that 
by any means, when I have preached to others, I myself 
should be a cast-away.” 

After all, let it now be supposed, that you imagine 
there is no necessity for you to be so sober and vigilant, 
so fearful of yourself, so watchful over your passions, so 
apprehensive of danger, so careful of your salvation, as 
the apostles were. Let it be supposed, that you imagine 
that you want less self-denial and mortification, to subdue 
your bodies, and purify your souls, than they wanted ; 
that you need not have your loins girt, and your lamps 
burning as they had, will you therefore live in a quite 
contrary state ? Will you make your life as constant a 
coui’se of softness and indulgence, as theirs was of strict¬ 
ness and self-denial. 

If, therefore, you should think that yoai have time suf- ~ 
ficient, both for prayer and other duties, though you rise 
late ; yet let me persuade you to rise early, as an instance 
of self-denial. It is so small a one, that if you cannot 
comply with it, you have no reason to think yourself ca¬ 
pable of any other. 

If I was to desire you not to study the gratification of 
your palate, in the niceties of meats and drink, I would 
not insist much upon the crime of wasting your money 
in such a way, though it be a great one ; but I would 
desire you to renounce such a way of life, because it sup¬ 
ports you in such a state of sensuality and indulgence, as 
renders you incapable of relishing the most essential 
doctrines of religion. 

For the same reason, I do not insist much, on the crime 


m 


A SERIOUS CALL TO A 


of wasting so much of your time in sleep, though it be a 
great one; but I desire you to renounce this indulgence, 
because it gives a softness and idleness to your soul; and 
is so contrary to that lively, zealous, watchful, self-deny¬ 
ing spirit, which was not only the spirit of Christ and his 
apostles, the spirits of all the saints and martyrs which 
have ever been amongst men, but must be the spirit of 
all those who would not sink in the common corruption 
of the world. 

Here therefore we must fix our charge against this 
practice; we must blame it, not as having this or that 
particular evil, but as a general habit that extends itself 
througn our whole spirit, and supports a state of mind 
that is wholly wrong. 

It is contrary to piety; not as accidental slips and 
mistakes in life are contrary to it, but in such a manner, 
as an ill habit of body is contrary to health. 

On the other hand, if you was to rise early every 
morning, as an instance of self-denial, as a method of 
renouncing indulgence, as a means of redeeming your 
time, and fitting your spirit for prayer, you would find 
mighty advantages from it. This method, though it 
seems such a small circumstance of life, would in all 
probability be a means of great piety. It would keep 
it constantly in your head, that softness and idleness 
were to be avoided, that self-denial was a part of Christia¬ 
nity. It would teach you to exercise power over your¬ 
self, and make you able by degrees to renounce other 
pleasures and tempers that war against the soul. 

This one rule would teach you to think of others ; it 
would dispose your mind to exactness, and be very likely 
to bring the remaining part of the day under rules of 
prudence and devotion. 

But above all, one certain benefit from this method 
you will be sure of having, it will best fit and prepare 
you for the reception of the Holy Spirit. When you thus 
begin the day in the spirit of renouncing sleep, because 
you are to renounce softness, and redeem your time; 
this disposition, as it puts your heart into a good state, so 
it will procure the assistance of the Holy Spirit; what 
is so planted and watered, will certainly have an increase 
from God. You will then speak from your heart, your’ 


DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 


181 


soul will be awake, your prayers will refresh you like 
meat and drink, you will feel what you say, and begin to 
know what saints and holy men have meant, by fervours 
of devotion. 

He that is thus prepared for prayer, who rises with 
these dispositions, is in a very different state from him, 
who has no rules of this kind : who rises by chance, as 
he happens to be weary of his bed, or is able to sleep no 
longer. If such a one prays only with his mouth ; if 
his heart feels nothing of that which he says; if his 
prayers are only things of course ; if they are a lifeless 
form of words, which he only repeats because they are 
soon said, there is nothing to be wondered at in ail this : 
for such dispositions are the natural effect of such a state 
of life. 

Hoping therefore, that you are now enough convinc¬ 
ed of the necessity of rising early to your prayers, 
I shall proceed to lay before you a method of daily 
prayer. 

I do not take upon me to prescribe to you the use 
of any particular forms of prayer, but only to shew 
the necessity of praying at such times, and in such a 
manner. 

You will here find some helps, how to furnish yourself 
with such forms of prayer as shall be useful to you. 
And if you are such a proficient in the spirit of devo-* 
tion, that your heart is always ready to pray in its own 
language, in this case I press no necessity of borrowed 
forms. 

For though I think a form of prayer very necessary 
and expedient for public worship, yet if any one can find 
a better way of raising his heart unto God in private, 
than by prepared forms of prayer, I have nothing to 
object against it; my design being only to assist and 
direct such as stand in need of assistance. 

Thus much, I believe, is certain, that the generality of 
Christians ought to use forms of prayer, at all the regu¬ 
lar times of prayer. It seems right for every one to be¬ 
gin with a form of prayer; and if, in the midst of devo¬ 
tions, he finds his heart ready to break forth into new 
and higher strains of devotion, he should leave his form 

Q 


182 


A SERIOUS CALL TO A 


for a while, and follow those fervours of his heart, till 
it again wants the assistance of his useful petitions. 

This seems to be the true liberty of private devotion ; 
it should be under the direction of some form; but not 
so tied down to it, but that it may be free to take such 
new expressions, as its present fervours happen to fur¬ 
nish it with ; which sometimes are more affecting, and 
carry the soul more powerfully to God, than any expres¬ 
sions that were ever used before. 

All people that have ever made any reflections upon 
what passes in their own hearts, must know that they 
are mighty changeable in regard to devotion. Some¬ 
times our hearts are so awakened, have such strong 
apprehensions of the divine presence, are so full of deep 
compunction for our sins, that we cannot confess them 
in any language, but that of tears. 

Sometimes the light of God’s countenance shines so 
bright upon us, we see so far into the invisible world, we 
are so affected with the wonders of the love and good¬ 
ness of God, that our hearts worship and adore in a lan¬ 
guage higher than that of words, and we feel transports 
of devotion, which only can be felt. 

On the other hand, sometimes we are so sunk into 
our bodies, so dull and unaffected with that which con¬ 
cerns our souls, that our hearts are as much too low for 
our prayers; we cannot keep pace with our forms of 
confessions, or feel half of that in our hearts, which we 
have in our mouths ; we thank and praise God with 
forms of words, but our hearts have little or no share in 
them. 

It is therefore highly necessary to provide against this 
inconstancy of our hearts, by having at hand such forms 
of prayer, as may best suit us when our hearts are in 
their best state, and also be most likely to raise and stir 
them up, when they are sunk into dulness. For as 
words have a power of affecting our hearts on all occa¬ 
sions, as the same thing differently expressed has dif¬ 
ferent effects upon our minds ; so it is reasonable, that 
we should make this advantage of language, and provide 
ourselves with such forms of expressions, as are most 
likely to move and enliven our souls, and fill them with 
sentiments suitable to them. 


DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 


183 


The first thing that you are to do, when you are upon 
your knees, is to shut your eyes, and with a short 
silence let your soul place itself in the presence of God ; 
that is, you are to use this, or some other better method, 
to separate yourself from all common thoughts, and 
, make your heart as sensible as you can of the divine 
presence. 

Now if this recollection of spirit is necessary, as who 
can say it is not ? then how poorly must they perforrn 
their devotions, who are always in a hurry ; who begirt 
them in haste, and hardly allow themselves time to re- 
peat^ their very form, with any gravity or attention ? 
Theirs is properly saying prayers, instead of praying. 

To proceed ; if you was to use yourself (as far as you 
can) to pray always in the same place; if you was to 
reserve that place for devotion, and not allow yourself 
to do any thing common in it; if you was never to be 
there yourself, but in times of devotion; if any little 
room (or if that cannot be) if any particular part of a 
room was thus used, this kind of consecration of it, as 
a place holy unto God, would have an effect upon your 
mind, and dispose you to such tempers, as would very 
much assist your devotion. For by having a place thus 
sacred in your room, it would in some measure resemble 
a chapel, or house of God. This would dispose you 
to be always in the spirit of religion, when you was 
there ; and fill you with wise and holy thoughts, when 
you was by yourself. Your own apartment would raise 
in your mind such sentiments, as you have, when you 
stand near an altaF; and you would be afraid of think¬ 
ing or doing any thing that was foolish near that place, 
which is the place of prayer, and holy intercourse with 
God. 

When you begin your petitions, use such various ex¬ 
pressions of the attributes of God, as may make you 
most sensible of the greatness and power of the divine 
nature. 

Begin therefore in words like these : “ O Being of 
all beings, Fountain of all light and glory, gracious 
Father of men and angels, whose universal Spirit, is 
every where present, giving life, and light, and joy, 


184 


A SERIOUS CALL TO A 


to all angels in heaven, and all creatures upon earth, 
&c. 

For these representations of the divine attributes, 
which shew us in some degree the majesty and great¬ 
ness of God, are an excellent means of raising our hearts 
into lively acts of worship and adoration. 

What is the reason that most people are so much af¬ 
fected with this petition in the burial service of our 
church ; “ Yet, O Lord God most holy, O Lord most 
mighty, O holy and most merciful Saviour, deliver us 
not into the bitter pains of eternal death It is, because 
the joining together so many great expressions, gives 
such a description of the greatness of the divine majesty, 
as naturally affects every sensible mind. 

Although therefore prayer does not consist in fine 
words, nor studied expressions; yet as words speak to 
the soul, as they have a certain power of raising thoughts 
in the soul ; so those words which speak of God in the 
highest manner, which most fully express the power and 
presence of God, which raise thoughts in the soul most 
suitable to the greatness and providence of God, are the 
most useful, and most edifying in our prayers. 

When you direct any of your petitions to our blessed 
Lord, let it be in some expression of this kind : “ O 
Saviour of the world, God of God, Light of Light; thou 
that art the Brightness of thy Father’s glory, and the 
express image of his person ; thou that art the Alpha 
and Omega, the beginning and end of all things : thou 
that hast destroyed the power of the devil; thou that 
hast overcome death ; thou that art entered into the holy 
of holies ; that sittest at the right hand of the Father ; 
that art high above all thrones and principalities, that 
makest intercession for all the world ; thou that art the 
judge of the quick and dead ; thou that wilt speedily 
come down in thy Father’s glory, to reward all men 
according to their works, be thou my light and my 
peace,” &c. 

For such representations, which describe so may char¬ 
acters of our Saviour’s nature and power, are not only 
proper acts of adoration, but will, if they are repeated 
with attention, fill our hearts with the highest fervours 
of true devotion. 


Dr.VOTTT AND rfOLY LIFE. 


i8.>^ 

xAgain, if you ask any particular grace of our blessed 
Lord, let it be in some manner like this; 

“ O holy Jesus, son of the most high God, thou that 
wast scourged at a pillar, stretched and nailed on a cross 
for the sins of the world, unite me to thy cross, and fill 
my soul with thy holy, humble, and suffering spirit. O 
fountain of mercy, thou that didst save the thief upon 
the cross, save me from the guilt of a sinful life; thou 
that didst cast seven devils out of Mary Magdalene, cast 
out of my heart, all evil thoughts and wicked tempers. 

O giver of life, thou that didst raise Lazarus from the 
dead, raise up my soul from the death and darkness of 
sin. Thou that didst give to thy apostles power over , 
unclean spirits, give me power over mine own heart. 
Thou that didst appear unto thy disciples when the 
doors were shut, do thou appear to me in the secret 
apartment of my heart. Thou that didst cleanse the 
lepers, heal the sick, and give sight to the blind, cleanse 
my heart, heal the disorders of my soul, and fill me 
with heavenly light.’*' 

Now these kind of appeals have a double advantage ; 
first as they are so many proper acts of our faith, where¬ 
by we not only shew our belief of the miracles of Christj 
but turn them at the same time into so many instances 
of worship and adoration. 

Secondly, as they strengthen and increase the faith< 
of our prayers, by presenting to our mind so many in-^ 
stances of that power and 'goodness, wliich we call upon 
for our own assistance. 

For he that appeals to Christ, as casting out devils, 
and raising the dead, has then a powerful motive in 
his hand to pray earnestly, and depend faithfully upon 
his assistance^ 

Again, in. order to fill your prayers with excellent 
strains of demotion, it may be of use to you to observe 
this farther rule r 

When-at any time, either in reading the scripture or 
any book of piety, you meet with a passage that more 
than ordinarily affects your mind, and seems as it were 
to give your heart a new motion tow'ards God, you should 
try to turn it into the form of a petition, and then give it 
a place in your prayers. 


ISo A SERIOtJS CALL TO A 

By this means, you would be often improving your 
prayers, and storing yourself with proper forms of 
making the desires of your heart known unto God. 

At all the stated hours of prayer, it will be of great 
benefit to you, to have something fixed, and something 
at liberty, in your devotions. 

You should have some fixed subject, which is con¬ 
stantly to be the chief matter of your prayer at that par¬ 
ticular time ; and yet have liberty to add such other pe¬ 
titions, as your condition may then require. 

For instance : as the morning is to you the begin¬ 
ning of a new life j as God has then given you a new en¬ 
joyment of yourself, and a fresh entrance into the 
world, it is highly proper that your first devotions should 
be a praise and thanksgiving to God, as for a new crea¬ 
tion 5 and that you should offer and devote body and 
soul, all that you are, and all that you have, to his ser¬ 
vice and glory. 

Receive therefore every day, as a resurrection from 
death, as a new enjoyment of life^ meet every rising 
sun with such sentiments of God’s goodness, as if you 
had seen it, and all things new created upon your ac¬ 
count ; and under the sense of so great a blessing, let 
your joyful heart, praise and magnify so good and glo¬ 
rious a creator. 

Let therefore praise and thanksgiving, and oblation of 
yourself unto God, be always the fixed and certain sub¬ 
ject of your first prayers in the morning ; and then take 
the liberty of adding such other devotions, as the acci¬ 
dental difference of your state, or the accidental differ¬ 
ence of your heart, shall then make most needful and 
expedient for you. 

For one of the greatest benefits of private devotion, 
consists in rightly adapting our prayers to these two 
conditions, the difference of our state, and the differ¬ 
ence of our hearts. 

By the difference of our state, is meant the difference 
of our external state or condition, as of sickness, health, 
pains, losses, disappointments, troubles, particular mer¬ 
cies or judgments from God; all sorts of kindnesses, 
injuries or reproaches from other people. 

Now as these are great parts of our state of life, as 


DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 


187 


they* make great difference in it, by continually chang¬ 
ing ; so our devotion will be made doubly beneficial to 
us, when it watches to receive and sanctify all these 
changes of our state, and turns them all into so many oc¬ 
casions of a more particular application to God of such 
thanksgivings, such resignations, such petitions as our 
present state more especially requires. 

And he that makes every change in his state, a reason 
of presenting unto God some particular petitions suit¬ 
able to that change, will soon find, that he has taken aft 
excellent means, not only of praying with fervour, but 
of living as he prays. 

The next condition, to which we are always to adapt 
some part of our prayers, is the difference of our hearts ; 
by which is meant the different state of the tempers of 
our hearts, as of love, joy, peace, tranquility ; dulness 
and dryness of spirit, anxiety, discontent, notions of en¬ 
vy and ambition, dark and disconsolate thoughts, resent¬ 
ments, fretfulness and peevish tempers. 

Now as these tempers, through the weakness of our 
nature will have their succession more or less, even in 
pious minds ; so we should constantly make the present 
state of our heart, the reason of some particular applica¬ 
tion to God. 

If we are in the delightful calm of sweet and easy 
passions, of love and joy in God, we should then of¬ 
fer the grateful tribute of thanksgiving to God, for 
the possession of so much happiness, thankfully owning 
and acknowledging him as the bountiful Giver of it 
all. 

If on the other hand, we feel ourselves laden with 
heavy passions, with dulness of spirit, anxiety and un¬ 
easiness, we must then look up to God in acts of humili¬ 
ty, confessing our unworthiness, opening our troubles 
to him, beseeching him in his good time to lessen the 
weight of our infirmities, and to deliver us from such 
• passions as oppose the purity and perfection of our 
souls. 

Now by thus watching, and attending to the present 
state of our hearts, and suiting some of our petitions ex¬ 
actly to their wants, we shall not only be well acquainted 


183 ’ 


A SERIOUS CALL TO A* 


with the disorders of our souls, but also be well exer¬ 
cised in the method of curing them. 

By this prudent and wise application of our prayers, 
we shall get all the relief from them that is possible; 
and the very changeableness of our hearts, will prove a 
means of exercising a greater variety of holy tempers. 

Now by all that has here been said, you will easily 
perceive, that persons careful of the greatest benefit of 
prayer, ought to have a great share in the forming and 
composing their own devotions. 

As to that part of their prayers, which is always fix¬ 
ed to one certain subject, in that they may use the help 
of some forms composed by other persons ^ but in that 
part of their prayers, which they are always to suit to 
the present state of their life, and the present state of 
their heart. There they must let the sense of their own 
condition help them to such kinds of petition, thanks¬ 
giving, or resignation, as their present state more es¬ 
pecially requires. 

Happy are they, v/ho have this business and employ¬ 
ment upon their hands ! 

And now, if people of leisure, whether men or women, 
who are so much at a loss how to dispose of their time, 
who are forced into poor contrivances, idle visits, and. 
ridiculous diversions, merely to get rid of hours that 
hang heavily upon their hands; ifsuch wereto appoint 
some certain spaces of their time, to the study of (levo- 
tion, searching after all the means and helps to attain a 
devout spirit. If they were to collect the best forms of 
devotion, to use themselves to transcribe the finest passa¬ 
ges of scripture prayers ; if they were to collect the de¬ 
votions, confessions, petitions, praises, resignations, and 
thanksgivings, which are scattered up and down in the 
Psalms, and range them under proper heads, as so much 
proper fuel for the flame of their own devotion. If their 
minds were often thus employed, sometimes meditating 
upon them, sometimes getting them by heart, and 
making them as habitual as their own thoughts, how 
fervently would they pray, who came thus prepared to. 
prayer ? 

And how much better would it be, to make this bene¬ 
fit of leisure time, than to be dully and idly lost in the 


DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 


189 


{)oor impertinences of a playing, visiting, wandering 
Jifc ? 

How much better would it be, to be thus furnished 
with hymns and anthems of the saints, and teach their 
souls to ascend to God ; than to corrupt, bewilder and 
confound their hearts, with the wild fancies, the lustful 
thoughts of lewd poets ? 

Now though people of leisure seem called more par¬ 
ticularly to this study of devotion, yet persons of much 
business or labour, must not think themselves excused 
from this or some better method of improving their de¬ 
votion. 

For the greater their business is, the more need they 
have of some such method as this, to prevent its power 
over their hearts; to secure them from sinking into 
worldly tempers, and preserve a sense and taste of hea¬ 
venly things in their minds. And a little time regularly 
and constantly employed to any one use or end, will do 
great things, and produce mighty effects. 

And it is for want of considering devotion in this light 
as something that is to be nursed and cherished with 
care, as something that is to be made part of our busi¬ 
ness, that is to be improved with care and contrivance, 
by art, and method, and a diligent use of the best helps ; 
it is for want of considering it in this light, that so many 
people are so little benefited by it, and live and die 
strangers to that spirit of devotion, which by a prudent 
use of proper means, they might have enjoyed in a high 

degree. ^ ^ -r r* i 

For though the spirit of devotion is the gift of God, 
and not attainable by any mere power of our own, yet it 
is mostly given, and never withheld, from those, who by 
a wise and diligent use of proper means, prepare them¬ 
selves for the reception of it. 

And it is amazing to see how eagerly men employ 
their parts, their sagacity, time, study, application, and 
exercise; how all helps are called to their assistance, 
when any thing is intended and desired in worldly mat¬ 
ters ; and how dull, negligent, and unimproved they are, 
how little they use their parts, sagacity, and abilities, to 
raise and increase their devotion I 

Mundanus is a man of excellent parts, and clear appre- 


190 


A SERIOUS CALL TO A 


hension. He is well advanced in age, and has made a 
great figure in business. Every part of trade and busi¬ 
ness that has fallen in his way, has had some improve¬ 
ment fi om him j and he is always contriving to carry 
every method of doing any thing well, to its greatest 
height. ^ Mundanus aims at the greatest perfection in 
every thing. The soundness and strength of his mind, 
and his just way of thinking upon things, makes him in¬ 
tent upon removing ail imperfections. 

He that can tell you all the defects and errors in all 
the common methods, whether of trade building, or im¬ 
proving land^ or manufactures. The clearness and 
strength of his understanding, which he is constantly 
improving, by continual exercise in these matters, by 
often digesting his thoughts in writing, and trying every 
thing every way, has rendered him a great master of 
most concerns in human life. 

1 Mundanus gone on, increasing his know¬ 

ledge and judgment, as fast as his years came upon him. 

1 he one only thing, which is not fallen under his im¬ 
provement, nor received any benefit from his judicious 
mind, is his devotion: this is just in the same poor 
state It was, when he was only six years of age: and 
the old man prays now, in that little form of words, 
which his mother used to hear him repeat night and 
morning. ^ ^ 

Thus Mundanus, that hardly ever saw the poore-St 
utensil, or ever took the meanest trifle into his hand, 
without considering how it might be made or used to 
better advantage, has gone all his life long praying in 
the same manner as when he was a child ; without ever 
considering how much better or oflner he might pray • 
without considering how improveable the spirit of de¬ 
votion IS, how many helps a wise and reasonable man 
may call to his assistance, and how necessary it is, that 
our prayers should be enlarged, varied, and suited to the 
particular state and condition of our lives. 

If Mundanus sees a book of devotion, he passes it bv, 
as he does a spelling-book, because he remembers that 
he learned to pray so many years ago, under his mother, 
when he learnt to spell. ^ 


DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 


191 


Now how poor and pitiable is the conduct of this 
nrtan of sense, who has so much judgment and under¬ 
standing in every thing, but that which is the whole wis¬ 
dom of man ? 

And how miserably do many people, more or less 
imitate this conduct ? 

All which seems to be owing to a strange infatuated 
state of negligence, which keeps people from considering 
what devotion is. For if they did but once proceed so 
far, as to reflect about it, or ask themselves any questions 
concerning it, they would soon see that the spirit of de¬ 
votion was like any other sense or understanding, that 
is only to be improved by study, care, application, and 
the use of such means and Helps, as are necessary to 
make a man a proficient in any art or science. 

Classicus is a man of learning, and well versed in all 
the best authors of antiquity. He has read them so 
much, that he has entered into their spirit, and can very 
ingeniously imitate the manner of any of them. All 
their thoughts are his thoughts, and he can express him¬ 
self in their language. He is so great a friend to this 
improvement of the mind, that if he lights on a young 
scholar he never fails to advise him concerning his 
studies. 

Classicus tells his young man, he must not think that 
he has done enough, when he has only learnt languages; 
but that he must be daily conversant with the best au¬ 
thors ; read them again and again, catch their spirit by 
living with them, and that there is no other way of be¬ 
coming like them, or of making himself a man of taste 
and judgment. 

How wise might Classicus have been, and how much 
good might he have done, in the world, if he had but 
thought as justl of devotion, as he does of learning ? 

He never, indeed, says any thing shocking or offensive 
about devotion, because he never thinks or talks about 
it. It suffers nothing from him, but neglect and oisre- 
gard. 

The two Testaments would not have had so much as a 
place amongst his books, but that they are botn to be 
had in Greek. 

Classicus thinks that he sufficiently shews his regard 


192 


A SERIOUS CALL TO A 


for the holy scripture, when he tells you, that he has no 
other book of piety besides them. 

It is very well Classicus, that you prefer the Bible to 
all other books of piety; he has no judgment, that is 
not thus far of your opinion. 

But if you will have no other book of piety besides 
the Bible, because it is the best, how comes it, Classicus, 
that you do not content yourself with one of the best 
books amongst the Greeks and Romans ? How comes 
it that you are so greedy and eager after all of them ? 
How comes it that you think the knowledge of one is a 
necessary help to the knowledge of the other? How 
comes it that you are so earnest, so laborious, so expen¬ 
sive of time and your money to restore broken periods 
and scraps of the ancients ? 

How comes it that you read so many commentators 
upon Cicero, Horace, and Homer, and not one upon the 
gospel ? How comes it that your love of Cicero, and 
Ovid, makes you love to read an author that writes like 
them; and yet your esteem for the gospel gives you 
no desire, nay prevents your reading such books, as 
breathe the very spirit of the gospel ? 

How comes it that you tell your young scholar, he 
must not content himself with barely understanding his 
authors, but must be continually reading them all, as the 
only means ot entering into their spirit, and forming his 
own judgment according to them ? 

Why then must the Bible lie alone in your study ? Is 
not the spirit of the saints, the piety of the holy follow¬ 
ers of Jesus Christ, as good and necessary a means of 
entering into the spirit and taste of the gospel, as the 
reading of the ancients is of entering into the spirit of 
antiquity ? 

Is the spirit of poetry only to be got by much reading 
of poets and orators ? And is not the spirit of devotion 
to be got in the same way, by frequent reading the holy 
thoughts, and pious strains of devout men ? 

Is your young poet to search after every line, that 
may give new wings to his fancy, or direct his imagina¬ 
tion ? And is it not as reasonable for him, who desires 
to improve in the divine life, that is, in the love of hea° 
venly things, to search after every stain of devotion. 


DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. I93 

that may move, kindle and infiame the holy ardour of 
his soul. 

Do you advise your orator to translate the best ora¬ 
tions, to commit much of them to memory, to be fre¬ 
quently exercising his talent in this manner, that habits 
of thinking and ‘speaking justly may be formed in his 
mind ? And is there not the same benefit and advantage 
to be made by books of devotion ? Should not a man use 
them in the same way, that habits of devotion, and 
aspiring to God in holy thoughts, may be well formed 
in his soul. 

Now the reason why Classicus does not think and 
judge thus reasonably of devotion, is owing to his never 
thinking of it in any other manner, than as the repeating 
a form of words. It never in his life entered into hfs 
head, to think of devotion as a state of the heart, as an 
improvable talent of the mind, as a temper that is to 
grow and increase like our reason and judgment, and to 
be formed in us by such a regular diligent use of proper 
means, as are necessary to form any other wise habit of 
mind. 

And it is for want of this, that he has been content 
all his life with the bare letter of prayer, and eagerly 
bent upon entering into the spirit of heathen poets and 
orators. 

And it is much to be lamented, that numbers of schol¬ 
ars are more or less chargeable with this excessive folly ; 
so negligent of improving their devotion, and so desirous 
of other poor accomplishments, as if they thought it a 
nobler talent, to be able to write an epigram in the turn 
of Martial, than to live, and think, and pray to God, in 
the spirit of St. Austin. 

And yet to correct this temper, and fill a man with a 
quite contrary spirit, there seems to be no more required, 
than the bare belief of the truth of Christianity. 

And if you was to ask Mundanus and Classicus, or 
any man of business or learning, whether pietv is not 
the highest perfection of man, or devotion the greatest 
attainment in the world, they must both be forced toan- 
sw^er in the affirmative, or else give up the truth of the 
gospel. 

For to set any accomplishment against devotion, or to 


194 


• A SERIOUS CALL TO A 


think any thing, or all things in the world, bears any pro-^ 
portion to its excellency ; is the same absurdity in a 
Christian, as it would be in a philosopher to prefer a 
meal’s meat, to the greatest improvement in knowledge. 

For as philosophy professes purely the search and in¬ 
quiry after knowledge ; so Christianity supposes, intends, 
desires and aims at nothing else, but the raising fallen 
man to a divine life, to such habits of holiness, such 
degrees of devotion, as may fit him to enter amongst the 
holy inhabitants of the kingdom of heaven. 

He that does not believe this of Christianity, may be 
reckoned an infidel; and he that believes thus much, 
has faith enough to give him a right judgment of the 
value of things, to support him in a sound mind, and 
enable him to conquer all the temptations which the 
world shall lay in his way. 

To conclude this chapter. Devotion is nothing else 
but right apprehensions, and right affections towards 
God. 

All practices therefore that heighten and improve our 
true apprehensions of God, all ways of life that tend to 
nourish, raise, and fix our affections upon him, are to 
be reckoned so many helps and means to fill us with 
devotion. 

As prayer is the proper fuel of this holy flame, so we 
must use all our care and contrivance to give prayer its 
full power; as by alms, self-denial, frequent retirements, 
and holy reading, composing forms for ourselves, or 
using the best we can get, adding length of time, and 
observing hours of prayer; changing, improving, and 
suiting our devotions to the condition of our lives, and the 
state of our hearts. 

Those who have most leisure, seem more especially 
called to a more eminent observance of these holy rules 
of a devout life. And they, who by the necessity of 
their state, and not through their own choice, have but 
little time to employ thus, must make the best use of 
that little they have. 

For this is the certain way of making devotion pro¬ 
duce a devout life. 


DEVOUT AND HOLY LTFK. 




CHAP. XV. 


Of chanting or ringing of Psalms in our iirioate devo¬ 
tions. Of the excellency and benefit qf this hind of 
devotion. Of the great effects it hath njion our hearts. 
Of the means of fierforming it in the best manner. 

YOU have seen in the foregoing chapter what 
means and methods you are to use, to raise and improve 
your devotion. How early you are to begin your pray¬ 
ers, and what is to be the subject of your first devotions 
in the morning. 

There is one thing still remaining, that you must be 
required to observe, not only as fit and pro^^er to be done, 
but as such as cannot be neglected, without great preju¬ 
dice to your devotions. And that is, to begin all your 
prayers wuth psalms. 

This is so right, is so beneficial to devotion, has so 
much effect upon our hearts, that it may be insisted upon 
as a common rule for all persons. 

I do not mean that you should read over a psalm, but 
that you should chant or sing one of those psalms, which 
we commonly call the reading psalms. For singing is 
as much the proper use of a psalm, as a devout supplica¬ 
tion is the proper use of a form of prayer. And a psalm 
only read, is very much like a prayer that is only looked 
over. 

Now the method of chanting a psalm, such as is used 
in the colleges, in the universities, and in some churches, 
is such as ail persons are capable of. The change of the 
voice in thus chanting of a psalm is so small and natu¬ 
ral, that every body is able to do it, and yet sufficient to 
raise and keep up the gladness of our hearts. 

You are therefore to consider this chanting of a psalm, 
as a necessary beginning of your devotions, as something 
that is to awaken all that is good and holy within you, 
that is to call your spirits to their proper duty, to set 
you in your best posture towards heaven, and tune all 
the powers of your soul to worship and adoration. 


A SERIOUS CALL TO A 


19(r 

For there- is nothing that so clears a way for youv 
prayers, nothing that so disperses dulness of heart, no¬ 
thing that so purifies the soul from poor and little pas¬ 
sions, nothing that so opens heaven, or carries your heart- 
so near it, as these songs of praise. 

They create a sense and delight in God, they awaken 
holy desires, they teach you how to ask, and they pre¬ 
vail with God to give. They kindle an holy flame, they 
turn your heart into an altar, your prayers into incense, 
and carry them as a sweet smelling savour to the throne 
of Grace. 

The difference between singing and reading a psalm, 
will easily be understood, if you consider the difference 
beivreen reading and singing a common song that you 
like. Whilst you only read it, you only like it, and that 
is all; but soon as you sing it, then you enjoy it, you 
feel the delight of it, it has got hold of you, your pas¬ 
sions keep pace with it, and you feel the same spirit 
wit-hin you, that there seems to be in the words. 

If you was to tell a person that has such a song, that 
he need not sing it, that it was sufficient to peruse it: 
he would wonder what you mean ; and would think you 
as absurd, as if you was to tell him, that he should only 
look at his food, to see whether it w^as good, but need 
not eat it ; for a song of praise not sung, is very like any 
other good thing not made use of. 

You will perhaps say, that singing is a particular tal¬ 
ent, that belongs only to particular people, and that you 
have neither voice nor car to make any music. 

If you had said that singing is a general talent, and 
lliat people difier in that as they do in all other things, 
you liad said something much truer. 

For how vastly do people differ in the talent of think¬ 
ing, which is not only common to all men, but seems to 
be the very essence of human nature 1 How readily do 
some people reason upon every thing ; and how hardly 
do others reason upon any thing ! How clearly do some 
people discourse upon the mast abstruse matters ? and 
how confusedly do others talk upon the plainest subjects I 

Yet no one desires to be excused from thought, or 
veavson, or discourse, because he has not these talents as 


DEVutJT A:\f) ^lOLY LIFE. 


ly'r 

some people have them. But it is full as just, for a per¬ 
son to think himself excused from thinking upon God, 
from reasoning about his duty to him, or discoursing 
about the means of salvation, because he lias not these 
talents in any fine degree ; this is full as just, as for a 
person to think himself excused from singing the praises 
of God, because he has not a fine ear, or a musical 
voice. 

For as it Is speaking, and not graceful speaking, that 
IS a required part of prayer ; as it is bowing, and not 
genteel bowing, that is a proper part ol adoration ; so it 
is singing, and not artful fine singing, that is a required 
way of praising God. 

If a person was to forbear praying, because he had an 
odd tone in his voice ; he would have as good an excuse 
as he has, that forbears from singing psalms, because he 
has but little management of his voice. And as a man’s 
speaking his prayers, though in an odd tone- may yet 
sufficiently answer all the ends of his own devotion ; so 
a man's singing of a psalm, though not in a very musical 
way, may yet sufficiently answer all the ends of rejoicing 
in and praising God. 

Secondly^ this objection might be of some weight, if 
you was desired to sing, to entertain other people ; but 
is not to be admitted in the present case ; where you are^ 
only required to sing the praises of God, as a part ot 
your own private devotion. 

If a person that has a very ill voice, and a bad way of 
speaking, was desired to be the mouth of a congrega¬ 
tion, it would be a very proper excuse for him, to say 
that he had not a voice, or a way of speaking, that was 
proper for prayer. But he would be very absurd if for 
the same reason he should neglect his own private de¬ 
votions. 

Now this is exactly the case of singing psalms ; you 
may not have the talent of singing, so as to be able to 
entertain other people, and therefore it is reasonable to 
excuse yourself from it; but if for that reason you 
should excuse yourself from this way of praising God, 
you would be guilty of a great absurdity • because sing¬ 
ing is no more required for tne music that is mado by 
it, than prayer is required for the fine words that it con- 


198 


A SEIUOUS 6ALL TO A 


tains, but as it is the natural and proper expression- of a 
heart rejoicing in God. 

Our blessed Saviour and his apostles sung an hymn, 
but it may reasonably be supposed, that they rather re¬ 
joiced in God, than made fine music. 

Do but so live, that your heart may truly rejoice in 
God, that it may feel itself affected with the praises of 
God, and then you will find, that this state of your 
heart will neither want a voice, nor ear, to find a tune 
for a psalm. Every one at some time or other, finds 
himself able to sing in some degree ; there are some 
times occasions of joy, that make all people ready to 
express their sense of it in some sort of harmony. The 
joy that they feel, forces them to let their voices have a 
part in it. 

He therefore, that saith he wants a voice, or an ear, 
to sing a psalm, mistakes the case ; he wanhthat spirit 
that really rejoices in God ; the dulness is in his heart, 
and not in his ear ; and when his heart feels a true joy 
in God, when it has a full relish of what is expressed in 
the psalms, he will find it veiy pleasant, to make the 
motions of his voice express the motions of his heart. 

Singing mdeed, as it is improved into an art, as it sig¬ 
nifies the running of the voice through such or such a 
compass of notes, and keeping time with a studied va¬ 
riety of changes, is not natural, nor the effect of any 
natural state of the mind ; so in this sense, i^ is not com¬ 
mon to all people, any more than those antic and invent¬ 
ed motions, which make fine dancing, are common to 
all people. 

But singing, as it signifies a motion of the voice suit¬ 
able to the motions of the heart, and the changing of its 
tone according to the meaning of the words which we 
utter, is as natural and common to all men, as it is to 
speak high when they threaten in anger, or to speak low 
when they are dejected and ask for a pardon. 

All men therefore are singers, in the same manner as 
all men think, speak, laugh, and lament. Eor singing 
is no more an invention, than grief or joy are invent 
lions. 

Every state of the heart naturally puts the body into 
some «tate that is suitable to it, and is proper to shew it 


DE\ OUT AND HOLY LIFE. 


m 


to other people. If a man is angry, or disdainful, no 
one need instruct him how to express these passions by 
the tone of his voice. The state of his heart disposes 
him to a proper use of his voice. 

If there are but few singers of divine songs, if people 
want to be exhorted to this part of devotion ; it is because 
there are but few, whose hearts are raised to that height 
of piety, as to feel any motions of joy and delight in the 
praises of God. 

Imagine to yourself, that you had been with Moses 
when he was led through xhe Red Sea; that you had 
seen the waters divide themselves, and stand on an heap 
on both sides ; that you had seen them held tip till you 
had passed through, then let fall upon your enemies ; do 
you think that you should then have wanted a voice or 
an ear to have sung with Moses, The Lord is my strength 
and my song^ and he is become my salvation^ &c. ? I know 
your own hoart tells you, that ail people must have been 
singers upon such an occasion. Let this therefore teach 
you that it is the heart that tunes a voice to sing the 
praises of God ; and that if you cannot sing these same 
words now with joy, it is because you are not so affected 
with the salvation of the world by Jesus Christ, as the 
Jews were, or you yourself would have been, with their 
deliverance at the Red Sea. 

That it is the state of the heart that disposes us to re¬ 
joice in any particular kind of singing, may be easily 
proved from variety of observations upon human nature. 
An old debauchee may, according to the language of the 
world, have neither voice nor ear, if you only sing a* 
psalm, or a song, in praise of virtue to him j but yet if 
in some easy tune you sing something that celebrates 
his former debauches, he will then, though he has no 
teeth in his head, shew you, that he has both a voice and 
an ear to join in such music. You then awaken his 
heart and he as naturally sings to such words, as he 
laughs when he is pleased. And this will be the case 
in every song that touches the heart; if you celebrate 
the ruling passion of any man’s heart, you put his voice 
in tune to join with you. 

Thus if you can find a man, whose ruling temper is 
devotion, whose heart is full of God, his voice will re- 


200 


A SERIOUS CALL TO A 


joice in tliose son^s of praise, which glorify that God 
that is the joy of his heart, though he has neither voice 
nor ear for other music. Would you therefore delight¬ 
fully perform this part of devotion, it is not so necessaiy 
to learn a tune, or practise upon notes, as to prepare 
your heart; for, as our blessed Lord saith. Out of the 
heart jtroceed evil thoughts^ viurders^ See. so it is equally 
true, that out of the heart proceed holy joys, thanksgiv¬ 
ing and praise. If you can once say with David, My 
heart is fixed,, 0 God, my heart is fixed, it will be very 
easy and natural to add, as he did, I will sing and give 
firaise, &c. 

Secondly, Let Us now consider another reason for this 
kind of devotion. As singing is a natural effect O'f joy- 
in the heart, so it has also a natural power of rendering 
the heart joyful. 

The soul and body are so united, that they have each 
of them power over one another in their actions. Cer¬ 
tain thoughts and sentiments in the soul, produce such 
and such motions or actions in the body ; and on the 
other hand, certain motions and actions of the body, have 
the same power of raising such and such thoughts and 
sentiments in the soul. So that as singing is the natural 
effect of joy in the mind, so it is as truly a natural cause 
of raising joy in the mind. 

As devoticii of the heart naturally breaks out into- 
outward acts of prayer, so outward acts of prayer are 
natural means of raising the devotion of the heart. 

It is thus in all states and tempers of the mind ; as the 
inward state of the mind produces outward actions suit¬ 
able to it, so those outward actions have the like power 
of raising an inward state of mind suitable to them. 

As anger produces angry words, so angry words in¬ 
crease anger. 

So that if we barely Consider human nature, we shall 
find, that singing or chanting the psalms, is as proper 
and necessary to raise our hearts to a delight in God, a^i 
prayer is proper and necessary to excite in us the spirit 
of devotion. Every reason for one, is in all respects as 
strong a reason for the other. 

If therefore you would know the reason and necessity 
of singing psalms, you must consider the reason and ne- 


DEVOUT xVND HOLY LIFE. 


201 


cessitv of praising and rejoicing in God ; because sing¬ 
ing of psalms is as much the true exercise and support 
of this spirit of thanksgiving, as prayer is the true exer- 
ercise and support of the spirit of devotion. And you 
may as well think, that you can be devout as you ought, 
without the use of prayer, as that you can rejoice in 
God as you ought, without, the practice of singing 
psalms. Because this singing is as much the natural 
language of praise and thanksgiving, as prayer is the 
natural language of devotion. ^ 

The union of soul and body is not a mixture ot their 
substances, as we see bodies united and mixed together, 
but consists solely in the mutual power that they have 

of acting upon one another. 

If two persons were in such a state of dependance 
upon one another, that neither of them could act, op 
move, or think, or feel or suffer, or desire any thing, 
wdthout putting the other into the same condition, one 
might properly say, that they were in a strict union, 
although their substances were not united together. 

Now this is the union of the soul and body ; the sub¬ 
stance of the one cannot be mixed or united with the 
other; but they are held together in such a state of 
union, that all the actions and sufferings of the one, arc 
at the same time the actions and sufferings ot the other. 
The soul has no thought or passion, but the body is con¬ 
cerned in it; the body has no action or motion, but what 
in some degree affects the soul. 

Now as it is the sole will of God, that is the reason 
and cause of all the powers and effects which, you see in 
the world ; as the sun gives light and heat, not because 
it has any natural power of so doing ;-as it is fixed in a 
certain place, and other bodies move about it : not be¬ 
cause it is in the nature of the sun to stand still, and in, 
the nature of other bodies to move about it; but merely 
because it is the will of God, that they should be in such 
a state. As the eye is the organ or instrument of seeing, 
not because the skins, and coats, and humours of the 
eye, have a natural power of giving sight: As the ears 
are the organs or instrument of hearing, not because the 
make of the ear has any natural power over sounds, but 
merely because it is the will of God that seeing and 


202 


A SERIOUS GAEL TO A 


hearing shoakl be thus received: so in like manner it 
IS the sole will of God, and not the nature of a human 
soul or body, that is the cause of this union betwixt the 
soul and the body. 

Now if you rightly apprehend this short account of 
the union ot the soul and body, you will see a greal deal 
into tlie reason and necessity of all the outward parts of 
religion. ^ 


Ihis muon of our souls and bodies, is the reason both 
why we have so little and so much power over ourselves. 
It IS owing to this union that we have so little power 
over our souls ; for as we cannot prevent the effects of 
externa objects upon our bodies; as we cannot command 
outward causes; so we cannot always command the in¬ 
ward state of our minds; because, as outward objects 
act upon our bodies without our leave, so our bodies aet 
upon our minds by the laws of the union of the soul and 

fh^f ° V it is owing to this union, 

that we have so little power over ourselves ^ 

On the other hand, it is owing to this union, that wc 
have so much power over ourselves. For as our souls 
m a great measure depend upon our bodies ; and as we 
have great power over our bodies ;, as we command our 
outward actions, and oblige ourselves to such habits of 
life, as naturally produce habits in the soul; as we can 
mortify our bodies, and remove ourselves from objects 
t at inflame our passions; so we have a great power over 
inwai d state of our souls. Again, as we are masters 
of our outward actions; as we can force ourselves to 

andTs reading, praying, singing, and the like ; 

and as al tnese bodily actions have an effect upon the 
soul, as they naturally tend to form such and such tem- 

Clwv’ ' r masters of these outward, 

state of the he’ai-r 

mimhVotVlm-Tumllvxs.'" “ 

f f'® necessity and 

benefit of sinpng psalms, and of all the outwai/acts 
of relipon ; for if the body has so much power over the 
soul. It IS certain that all such bodily actions as affect 
ic soul, are of great weight in religion, Not as if there 


DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 


^08 


was any true ^vDrshlp or piety in the actions themselves, 
but because they are proper to raise and support that 
spirit, which is the true worship of God. 

Though therefore the seat of religion is in the heart, 
yet since our bodies have a power over our hearts, since 
outward actions both proceed from, and enter into the 
heart, it is plain, that outward actions have a great power 
over that religion which is seated in the heart. 

We are therefore as well to use outward helps, as in¬ 
ward meditation, in order to beget and fix habits of piety 
in our hearts. 

This doctrine may be easily carried too far; for by 
calling in too many outward means of worship, it may 
degenerate into superstition : as on the other band, some 
have fallen into the contrary extreme. For because 
religion is justly placed in the heart, some have pursued 
that notion so far, as to renounce vocal prayer, and other 
outward acts of worship, and have resolved all religion 
into a quietism, or mystic intercourses with God in si¬ 
lence. 

Now these are two extremes equally prejudicial to 
true religion; and ought not to be objected either 
against internal or external worship. As you ought not 
to say, that I encourage that quietism, by placing reli¬ 
gion in the heart; so neither ought you to say that I en¬ 
courage superstition, by shewing the benefit of outward 
acts of worship. 

For since we arc neither all soul, nor all body ; seeing 
none of our actions are either separately of the soul, or 
separately of the body ; seeing we have no habits but 
such as are produced by the actions both of our souls 
and bodies ; it is certain, that if we would arrive at hab¬ 
its of devotion, or delight in God, we must not only me¬ 
ditate and exercise our souls, but we must practise and 
exercise our bodies to all such outward actions, as are 
conformable to these inward tempers. 

If we should truly prostrate our souls before God, we 
must use our bodies to postures of lowliness. If we de¬ 
sire true fervour of devotion, we must make prayer the 
frequent labour of our lips. If we would banish all 
pride and passion from our hearts, we must force our¬ 
selves to all outward actions of patience and meekness. 


204 • 


A SERIOUS CALL TO A 


If we would feel motions of joy and delight in God. 
we must practise all the outward acts of it, and make 
our voices call upon our hearts. 

Now therefore, you may plainly see the reason and 
necessity of singing of psalms; it is because outward 
actions are necessary to support inward tempers ; and 
therefore the outward act of joy is necessary to raise and 
support the inward joy of the mind. 

If any people were to leave off prayer, because they 
seldom find the motions of their hearts answering the 
words which they speak, you would charge them Avith 
great absurdity You would think it very reasonable, 
that they shall continue their prayers, and be strict in 
observing all times of prayer, as the most likely means 
of removing the dulness and indevotion of their hearts. 

Now this is very much the case as to singing of psalms, 
people often sing without finding any inward joy suitable 
to the words which they speak ; therefore they are care¬ 
less of it, or wholly neglect it; not considering that they 
act as absurdly, as he that should neglect prayer, be¬ 
cause his heart was not enough affected with it. For it 
is certain, that this singing is as much the natural means 
of raising motions of joy in the mind, as prayer is the 
natural means of raising devotion. 

I have been the longer upon this head, because of its 
great importance to true religion. For there is no state 
of mind so holy, so excellent, and so truly perfect as that 
of thankfulness to God; and consequently nothing is of 
more importance in religion, than that which exercises 
and improves this habit of mind. 

A dull, uneasy, complaining spirit, which is sometimes 
the spirit of those that seem careful of religion, is yet of 
all tempers the most contrary to religion, for it disowns 
that God which it pretends to adore. For he sufficiently 
disowns God, who does not adore him as a being of in¬ 
finite goodness. 

If a man does not believe that all the world is as God’s 
family, where nothing happens by chance, but ail is 
guided and directed by the care and providence of a Be¬ 
ing that is all love and goodness to all his creatures ; if 
a man do not believe this from his heart, !^e cannot be 
«aid truly to believe in God. And yet he that has this 


DEVOUT AND HOLYLH E. 


205 


faith, hath faith enough to overcome the world, and al¬ 
ways be thankful to God. For he that believes that 
every thing happens to him for the best, cannot possibly 
complain for the want of something that is better. 

If therefore you live in murmurings and complaints, 
accusing all the accidents of life, it is not because you 
are a weak, infirm creature, but it is because you want 
the first principle of religion, a right belief in God. For 
as thankfulness is an express acknowledgement of the 
goodness of God, towards you, so repinings and com¬ 
plaints are as plain accusations of God*s want of good¬ 
ness towards you. 

On the other hand, w'ould you know who is the great¬ 
est saint in the world ? It is not he who prays most, or 
fasts most; it is not he who gives most alms, or is most 
eminent for temperance, chastity, or justice ; but it is he 
who is alw'ays thankful to God, who wills every thing 
that God willeth, who receives every thing as an instance 
of God’s goodness, and has a heart always ready to praise 
God for it. 

All prayer and devotion, fastings and repentance^ 
meditation and retirement, all sacraments and ordinan¬ 
ces, are but so many means to render the soul thus di¬ 
vine and conformable to the will of God, and to fill it 
with thankfulness and praise for every thing that comes 
from God. This is the perfection of all virtues; and 
all virtues that do not tend to it, or proceed from it, are 
but .60 many false ornaments of a soul not convened 
unto God. 

You need not therefore now w^onder, that I lay so 
much stress upon singiiig a psalm at all your devotions, 
since you see it is to form your spirit to such joy and 
thankfulness to God, as is the highest perfection of a 
divine and holy life. 

If ai^:y one w'ould tell you the shortest, surest w ay to 
all happiness, and ail perfection, he must tell you to 
make it a rule to yourself, to thank and praise God for 
every thing that happens to you. For it is certain, that 
whatever seeming calamity happens to you, if you thank 
and praise God for it, you turn it into a blessing. Could 
you therefore w^oi k n-iraclcs, you could not do more for 
vouiself, than by this thankful spirit, for it heals with 
S 


206 


A SERIOUS CALL TO A 


a word speaking, and turns all that it touches into hap¬ 
piness. 

If therefore you would be so true to your eternal in¬ 
terest, as to propose this thankfulness as the end of all 
your religion ; if you would but settle it in your mind, 
that this was the state that you was to aim at by all 
your devotions; you would then have something plain 
and visible to walk by in all your actions, you would 
then easily see the effect of your virtues, and might 
safely judge of your improvement in piety. For so far 
as you renounce all selfish tempers and motions of your 
own will, and seek for no other happiness, but in the 
thankful reception of every thing that happens to you, 
so far you may be safely reckoned to have advanced in 
piety. 

And although this be the highest temper that you 
can aim at, though it be the noblest sacrifice that the 
greatest saint can offer unto God, yet it is not tied to 
any time, or place, or great occasion, but is always in 
your power, and may be the exercise of every day. For 
the common events of every day are sufficient to dis¬ 
cover and exercise this temper, and may plainly shew 
you how far you are governed in all your actions by this 
thankful spirit. 

And for this reason I exhort you to this method in 
your devotion, that every day may be made a day of 
thanksgiving, and that the spirit of murmur and discon¬ 
tent may be unable to enter into the heart, which is so 
often employed in singing the praises of God. 

It may perhaps after all be objected, that although 
the great benefit, and excellent effects of this practice, 
are very apparent, yet it seems not altogether so fit for 
private devotions ; since it can hardly be performed with¬ 
out making our devotions public to other people, and 
seems also liable to the charge of sounding a trumpet at 
our prayers. 

It is therefore answered. Firsts that great numbers 
of people have it in their power to be as private as they 
please ; such persons therefore are excluded from this 
excuse, which however it m^ be so' to others, is none 
to them. Therefore let such take the benefit of thre 
excellent devotion. 


DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 


207 


Secondly^ numbers of people are by the necessity of 
their state, as servants, apprentices, prisoners, and fami¬ 
lies in small houses, forced to be continually in the pres¬ 
ence or sight of somebody or other. 

Now are such persons to neglect their prayers, be¬ 
cause they, cannot pray without being seen ? Are they 
not rather obliged to be more exact in them, that others 
may not be witnesses of their neglect,, and so corrupted 
by their example ? 

Now what is here said of devotion, may surely be 
said of this chanting a psalm, which is only a part o£ 
devotion. 

The rule is this, do not pray that you may be seen 
of men, but if your confinement obliges you to be always 
in sight of others, be more afraid of being seen to ne¬ 
glect, than of being seen to have recourse to prayer. 

Thirdly^ The state of the matter is this. Either peo¬ 
ple can use such privacy in this practice, as to have no 
hearers, or they cannot. If they can, then this objec¬ 
tion vanishes as to them : and if they cannot, they should 
consider their confinement, and the necessities of their 
state, as the confinement of a prison; and then they 
have an excellent pattern to follow, they may imitate 
St. Paul and Silas, who sang'praises to God in prison, 
though we are expressly told, that the prisoners heard 
them. They therefore did not refrain from this kind of 
devotion for fear of being heard by others. If therefore 
any one is in the same necessity, either in prison or out 
of prison, what can he do better, than to follow this ex¬ 
ample ? 

I cannot pass by this place of scripture, without de¬ 
siring the pious reader to observe how strongly we are 
here called upon to this use of psalms, and what a migh¬ 
ty recommendation of it, the practise of these two great 
saints is. 

In this their great distress in prison, in chains, under 
the soreness of stripes, in the horror of night, the di¬ 
vine st, holiest thing they could do, was to sing praises 
unto God. 

And shall we, after this, need any exhortation to this 
holy practice? Shall we let the day pass without.such 


A SERIOUS CALL TO A 


thanksgivings as they would not neglect in the night ? 
Shall a prison, chains and darkness, furnish them with 
songs of praise, and shall we have no singings in our 
closets ? 

Further, let it also be observed, that while these two 
holy men were thus employed in the most exalted part 
of devotion, doing that on earth, which angels do in hea¬ 
ven, that the foundations of the p,rison were shaken^ all 
the doors were opened^ and every one^s hands were 
loosed. Acts xvi. 26. 

And shall we now ask for motives to this divine ex¬ 
ercise when, instead of arguments, we have here such 
miracles to convince us of this mighty power with 
God ? 

Could God by a voice from heaven more expressly 
Call us to these songs of praise, than by thus shewin^^ 
tis, how he hears, delivers, and rewards those that use 
them ? 

But this by the way. I now return to the objection in 
hand; and answer, Fourthly, That the privacy of our 
players, is not destroyed by our having, but by our seek¬ 
ing witnesses of them. 

If therefore nobody hears you but those you cannot 
separate yourself from, you are as much in secret, and 
your Father who seeth in secret, will as truly reward 
your secrecy, as if you was seen by him alone. 

Fifthly, Private prayer, as it is opposed to prayer in 
public, does not suppose that no one is to have any wit¬ 
ness of it. for husbands and wives, brothers and sisters, 
parents and children, masters and servants, tutors and 
pupils, arc to be witnesses to one another of such devo¬ 
tion, as may U'uly and properly be called private. It is 
far from being a duty to conceal such devotion from such 
near relations. 

In all these cases therefore, where such relations some¬ 
times pray together in private, and sometimes apart by 
themselves, the chanting of a psalm can have nothincr 
objected against it. ^ 

Our blessed Lord, commands us when we fast, to 
anoint our heads and vjash our facesy that wc afifiear not 
unto men to fast ^ but unto our 'Father which is in secret. 


DEVOUT AND HOLY LtFE. 


209 


But this only means, that we must not make public 
ostentation to the world of our fasting. 

For if no one was to fast in private, or could be said 
to fast in private but he that had no witnesses of it, no 
one could keep a private fast, but he that lived by^ him¬ 
self: for every family must know who fasts in it. T here- 
fore the privacy of fasting does not suppose such a 
privacy, as excludes every body from knowing it, but 
such a privacy as does not seek to be known abroad. 

Cornelius the devout centurion, of whom the scripture 
saith, that he g-ave much^ and prayed to God always 
saith unto St. Peter, Four days a^o, I <ivas fasting until 
this hour^ Acts x. 2. 

Now that this fasting was sufficiently private and 
acceptable to God, appears from the vision of an an¬ 
gel, with which the holy man was blessed at that 

time. . 

But that it was not so private, as to be entirely un¬ 
known to others, appears,^ as from the relation of it 
here, so from what is said in another place, that he cat- 
led tvjo of his household servants^ and a devout soldier 
of them 'that waited upon him continually. So that 
Cornelius his fasting was so far from being unknown to 
his family, that the soldiers and they of his household 
were made devout themselves, by continually waiting 
upon him, that is, by seeing and partaking of his good 


works • 

As therefore the privacy or excellency of fasting is 
not destroyed by being known to some particular per¬ 
sons, neither would the privacy or excellency of your 
devotions be hurt, though by chanting a psalm you 
should be heard by some of your faniily. 

. The whole of the matter is this. Great part ot the 
world can be as private as they please, thercfore let 
them use this excellent devotion between God and 
themselves. 

Another great part of the world must and ought to 
have witnesses of several of their devotions; let them 
therefore not neglect the use of a psalm at such times 
as it ought to be known to those with whom they live, 
that they do not neglect their prayers. For surely, there 
can be no harm in being known to be singing a psa^m, 
S 2 


210' 


A SERIOUS CALL TO A 


at such times as it ought to be known that you are at 
your prayers. ^ 

Aiid il'at other times you desire to be in such secre- 
-y at your devotions, as to liave nobody suspect it, and 
for that reason forbear your psaimi I have'^nothL to 

player, you never omit this practice 

for who would not be often doing that in the dav 
''■ould not neglect in the mid- 

shonW yoo “’OS singing, it 

should come into your head, how the prison shakid, and 

^c^otTnThTrm’. 

presentations, it would be of great use to you if a he' 

selfTome^f r"'' imagine to your! 

™ ir h^!f“ ' representations, as might heat and warm 
>our heart in,o a temper suitable to those prayers that 
you are then about to offer unto God. P‘ ® 

As thus ; before you begin your psalm of praise and 

X'‘s"tfll‘"aS’ ■’ i">agbation 

He still, and imagine to yourself, that you saw thr^ 

heavens open, and the glorious choirs of chL ubims and 
Seraphims about the throne of God. Imagine that you 
hear the music of those angelic voices that ceLe C 

a^^ iT?o"Se!° 

m.fas"tC.™Rir:^"9^" ^Vbehei^r^^^fr f"p- 

en a great multitude wh'ich no ma! !ml’ld“umber oraU 

Sr’rthmntarbeK^ 

white robes, and p’alms in^tu- ha!.cir''Xnttty c^d 

upopthe!hr!!raU'uCthe'iZL‘^°‘* 


DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 


211 


heavenly beings, and made you long to bear a part in 
their eternal music. 

If you will but use yourself to this method, and let 
your imagination dwell among such representations as 
these, you will soon find it an excellent means of raising 
the spirit of devotion within you. 

Always therefore begin your psalm or song of praise, 
with these imaginations ; and at every verse of it, ima¬ 
gine yourself amongst those heavenly companions, that 
your voice is added to theirs, and that angels join with 
you, and you with them ; and that you with a poor and 
low voice, are singing that on earth, which they are sing-* 
ing in heaven. 

Again, sometimes imagine that you had been one of 
those that joined with our blessed Saviour when he sung 
an hymn. Strive to imagine to yourself, with what ma¬ 
jesty he looked ; fancy that you had stood close by him, 
surrounded with his glory. Think how your heart would 
have been inflamed, what ecstasies of joy you would 
have then felt, when singing with the son of God. 
Think again and again, with what joy and devotion 
you would then have sung, had this been really your 
happy state, and what a punishment you should have 
thought it, to have been then silent; and let this teach 
you how to be affected with psalms and hymns of thanks- 
giving. 

Again, sometimes imagine to yourself that you saw 
holy David with his hands upon his harp, and his eyes 
fixed upon heaven, calling with transport on the crea¬ 
tion, sun and moon, light and darkness; day and night, 
men and angels, to join with his rapturous soul in prais¬ 
ing the Lord of heaven. 

Dwell upon this imagination, tilt you think you are- 
singing with this divine musician, and let such a com¬ 
panion teach you to exalt your heart unto God in the 
following psalm j which you may use constantly first in 
the morning. 

Psalm cxlv.- I mil magnify tkee^ 0 God my King : 
T'lviil/iraise thy name for ever and every itfe. 

These following psalms, as the 34th, 96th, 103d, 
111th, 146th 147th, are such as wonderfully-set forth 
the glory of God ; and therefore you may keep to any 


.212 


A SERIOUS CALL TO A 


one of them at any particular hour, as you like : or you 
may take the finest parts of any psalms, and so adding 
them together, may make thejn fitter for your own de¬ 
votion. 


CHAP. XVI. 

Recommending devotion at nine o^clock in the morji- 
ing^ called in Scripture the third hour of the day. 
The subject of these prayers is humility. 

I AM now come to another hour of prayer, which 
in scripture is called the third hour of the day ; but ac¬ 
cording to our way of numbering the hours, it is called 
the ninth hour of the morning. 

The devout Christian must at this time look upon him¬ 
self as called upon by God to renew his acts of prayer, 
and address himself again to the throne of grace. 

There is indeed no express command in scripture to 
repeat our devotions at this hour. But then it is to be 
Considered also, that neither is there an express com¬ 
mand to begin and end the day with prayer. So that if 
that be looked upon as a reason for neglecting devotion 
at this hour, it may as well be urged as a reason for ne¬ 
glecting devotion both at the beginning and end of the 
day. 

But if the practice of the saints in all ages of the 
world, if the customs of the pious Jews and primitive 
Christians be of any force with us, we have authority 
enough to persuade us, to make this hour a constant 
season of devotion. 

The scriptures shew us how this hour was consecrated 
to devotion, both by Jews and Christians : so that if we 
desire to number ourselves amongst those whose hearts 
were devoted unto God, we must not let this hour pass, 
without presenting us to him in some solemnities of de¬ 
votion. And beside this authority for tliis practice, the 
reasonableness of it is sufficient to invite us to the obser- 
vfince of it. 


DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 


m 


For if you was up at a good lime in the morning, 
your first devotions will have been at a proper distance 
from this hour : you will have been long enough at 
other business, to make it proper for you to return to 
this greatest of all business, the raising your soul and 
affections unto God. 

But if you have risen so late, as to be hardly able to 
begin your first devotions at this hour, which is proper 
for your second, you may thence learn that the indulging 
yourself in the morning sleep is no small matter ; since 
it sets you so far back in your devotions, and robs you 
of those graces and blessings, which are obtained by fre¬ 
quent prayers. 

For if prayer has power with God, if it -looses the 
bands of sin, if it purifies the soul, reforms our hearts, 
and draws down the aids of divine grace ; how can that 
be reckoned a small matter, which robs us of an hour of 
prayer ? 

Imagine yourself somewhere placed in the air, as a 
spectator of all that passes in the world ; and that you 
saw in one view, the devotions which all Christian people 
offer unto God every day. Imagine that you saw some 
piously dividing the day and night, as the primitive 
Christians did, and constant at all hours of devotion, sing¬ 
ing psalms, and calling upon God, at all those times, 
that saints and martyrs receive their gifts and graces 
from God. 

Imagine that you saw others living without any rules,, 
as to times and frequency of prayer, and only at their 
devotions sooner or later, as sleep and laziness happens 
to permit them. 

Now if you was to see this, as God sees it, how d« 
you suppose you should be affected with this sight ? 
What judgment do you imagine you should pass upon 
these different sorts of people ? Could you think, that 
those who were thus exact in their rules of devotion, got 
nothing by their exactness ? Could you think, that their 
prayers were received just in the same manner, and pro¬ 
cured them no more blessings, than theirs do, who pre-^ 
fer laziness and indulgence to times and rules of devo- 
lion ? p j 

Could you take the one to be as true servants of God, 


214 


A SERIOUS CALL TO A 


as the other ? Could you imagine, that those who were 
thus different in their lives, would find no difference in 
their states after death ? Could you think it a matter of 
ind^fferency, to which of these people you were most 

If not, let it be now your care to join yourself to that 
number of devout people, to that society of saints, 
amongst whom you desire to be found, when you leave 
the world. ^ 

And although the bare number and repetition of our 
prayers is, of little value, yet since prayer rightly and 
attentively performed, is the most natural means of 
amending and purifying our hearts; since importunity 
and trequency in prayer is as much pressed upon us bv 
^riptuij, as prayer itself, we may be sure, that when 
we are frequent and importunate in our prayers, we are 
of a cfevouUffe obtaining the highest benefits 

And on the other hand, they who through negligence, 

is uLhi other indulgence, render themfelves 
ther unable, or uninclined to observe rules and hours of 
devotion, we may be sure, that they deprive themselves 
ot those graces and blessings which an exact and fervent 
devotion procures from God. 

Now as this frequency of prayer is founded in the 
doctrines of scripture, and recommended to us by the 
practice of the true worshippers of God ; so we ought 
not to thin,i ourselves excused from it, but where we 
can shew, that we are spending our time in such busi- 
of prayed ^^^^Ptable to God, than these returns 

Least of all must we imagine, that dulness, negligence, 
for T tie any pardonable excuses 

dlvodon “«hocl of 

If you are of a devout spirit, you will rejoice at these 

lovf amPfin ’ " “P’ P^sions into diLe 

love, and fill your heart with stronger joys and consola^ 

tions, than you can possibly meet with in anything else. 

And if yo.i are not of a devout spirit, then you aTe 
moreover obliged to this frequency of prayer, lo train 


DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 


215 


and exercise your heart into a true sense and feeling of 
devotion. 

Now seeing the holy spirit of the Christian religion, 
and the example of tlie saints of all ages, calls upon 
you thus to divide the day into hours of prayer ; so it will 
be highly beneficial to you, to make a right choice of 
those matters which are to be the subject of your prayers, 
and to keep every hour of prayer appropriated to some 
particular subject, which you may alter or enlarge, ac¬ 
cording as the state you are in requires. 

By this means, you will have an opportunity of being 
large and particular in all the parts of any virtue or 
grace, which you then make the subject of your prayers. 
And by asking for it in all its parts, and making it the 
substance of a whole prayer once every day, you will 
soon find a mighty change in your heart ; and that you 
cannot thus constantly pray for all the parts of any 
virtue every day of your life, and yet live the rest of the 
day contrary to it. 

If a worldly-minded man was to pray every day 
against all the instances of a worldly temper; if he should 
make a large description of the teniptations of covetous¬ 
ness, and desire God to assist him to reject them all, 
and to disappoint him in all his covetous designs, he 
would find his conscience so much awakened, that he 
would be forced either to forsake such prayers, or to 
forsake a worldly life. 

The same will hold true, in any other instance. And 
if we ask, and have not, it is because w^e ask amiss. Be¬ 
cause we ask in cold and general forms, such as only 
name the virtues without describing their particular parts, 
such as are not enough particular to our condition, and 
therefore make no change in our hearts. Whereas when 
a man enumerates all the parts of any virtue in his 
prayers, his conscience is thereby awakened, and he is 
frightened at seeing how far short he is of it. And this 
stirs him up to an ardour in devotion, when he sees 
how much he w^ants of that virtue which he is praying 
for, 

I have in the last chapter laid before you the excel¬ 
lency of praise and thanksgiving, and recommended that 
as the subject of your first devotions in the morning. 


216 


A SERIOUS CALL TO A 


And because an humble state of Soul is the very state 
of religion, because humility is the life and soul of piety, 
the foundation and support of every virtue and good 
work, the best guard and security of all holy affections ; 
I shall recommend humility to you, as highly proper to 
be made the constant subject of your devotions, at this 
third hour of the day ; earnestly desiring you to think 
no day safe, or like to end well, in which you have not 
thus early put yourself in this posture of humility, and 
called upon God to carry you through the day in the 
exercise of a meek and lowly spirit. 

This virtue is so essential to the right state of our 
souls, that there is no pretending to a reasonable or pi¬ 
ous life without it. We may as well think to see with¬ 
out eyes, or live without breath, as to live in the spirit 
of religion, without the spirit of humility. 

And although it is thus the soul and essence of all re¬ 
ligious duties, yet it is, generally speaking, the least un¬ 
derstood, the least regarded, the least intended, the least 
desired, and sought after, of all other virtues, amongst 
all sorts of Christians. 

No people have more occasion to be afraid of the ap¬ 
proaches of pride, than those wdm have made some ad¬ 
vances in a pious life. For pride can grow as well upon 
our virtues as our vices, and steals upon us on all occa¬ 
sions. 

Every good thought that we have, every good action 
that we do, lays us open to pride, and exposes us to the 
assaults of vanity and self-satisfaction. 

It is not only the beauty of our persons, the gifts of 
fortune, or our natural talents, and the distinctions of 
life ; but even our devotions and alms, our fastings and 
humdiutions, expose us to fresh and strong temptations 
of this evil spirit. 

Aiid it is for this reason, that I so earnestly advise 
every devout person to begin every day in this exercise 
of humility, that he may go on in safety under the pro- 
tiction of his good guide, and not fall a sacrifice to his 
own progress in those virtues, which are to save mankind 
from destruction. 

Humility does not consist in having a worse opinion 
of ourselves than we deserve, or in abasing ourselves 



DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 


lower than we really are. But as all virtue is founded 
in truth, so humility is founded in a true and just sense 
of our weakness, misery and sin. He that rightly feels 
nnd lives in this sense of his condition, lives in humility. 

The weakness of our state appears from our inability 
to do any thing, as of our ourselves. In our natural state 
we are entirely without any power ; we arc indeed active 
beings, but can only act by a power, that is every mo¬ 
ment lent us from God. 

We have no more power of our own to move a hand, 
or stir a foot, than to move the sun, or stop the clouds. 

W hen we speak a word, we feel no more power in 
ourselves to do it, than we feel ourselves able to raise the 
dead. For we act no more within our own power, ©r 
by our own strength, when we speak a word, or make a 
sound, than the apostles acted within their own power, 
or by their own strength, when a word from their mouth 
east out devils, and cured diseases. 

As it was solely the power of God that enabled them 
to speak to such purposes, so it is solely the power of God 
that enables us to speak at all. 

We indeed find that we can speak, as we find that we 
are alive ; but the actual exercise of speaking is no more 
in our own power, than the actual enjoyment of life. 

This is the dependent helpless poverty of our state ■ 
which is a great reason for humility. For since we nei¬ 
ther are, nor can do any thing of ourselves, to be proud 
of any thing that we are, or of any thing that we can 
do, and to ascribe glory to ourselves for these things, as 
our own ornaments, has the guilt botn of stealing and 
lying. It has the guilt of stealing as it gives to ourselves 
those things which only belong to God. It has the 
guilt of lying as it is the denying the truth of our state., 
and pretending to be something that Ave are not. 

Secondly, Anoiher argument for humility, is founded 
in the misery of our condition. 

Now the misery of our condition appears in this, that 
we use the borrowed poAvers of our nature, to tne tor¬ 
ment and vexation of ourselves, and our felloAv-crea- 
tures. 

Goa Almighty hasentrusted us with the use of reason, 
and Ave use it to the disorder and con’uption of our na- 

T 


218 


A JSERlOUb CALL TO A 


ture. We reason ourselves into all kinds of folly and 
misery, and make our lives the sport of foolish and exr 
travagant passions : Seeking after imaginary happiness 
in all kinds of shapes, creating to ourselves a thousand 
wants, amusing our hearts with false hopes and fears, 
using the world worse than irrational animals ; envying, 
vexing and tormenting one another with restless passions, 
and unreasonable contentions. 

Let any man but look back upon his own life, and 
see what use he has made of his reason, how little he has 
consulted it, and how less he has followed it. What 
foolish passions, what vain thoughts, what needless la¬ 
bours, what extravagant projects, have taken up the 
greatest part of his life. How foolish he has been in 
his words and conversation ; how seldom he has done 
well with judgment, and how often he has been kept 
from doing ill by accident; how seldom he has been 
able to please himself, and how often he has displeased 
others ; how often he has changed his counsels, hated 
what he loved, and loved what he hated ; how often he 
has been enraged and transported at trifles, pleased and 
displeased with the very same things, and constantly 
changing from one vanity to another. Let a man but 
take this view of his own life, and he will see reason 
.enough to confess, that pride was not made for man. 

Let him but consider, that if the world knew all that 
of him, which he knows of him.self; if they saw what 
vanity and passions govern his inside, and what secret 
tempers sully and corrupt his best actions, he would have 
no more pretence to be honoured and admired for his 
goodness and wisdom, than a rotten and distempered 
body to be loved and admired for its beauty and comeli¬ 
ness. 

This is so true, and so known to the hearts of almost 
all people, that nothing would appear more dreadful to 
them, than to have their hearts thus fully discovered to 
the eyes of all the beholders. 

And perhaps there are very few people in the world, 
who would not rather choose to die, than to have all their 
secret follies, the errors of their judgements, the vanity 
of their minds, the falseness of their pretences, the fre- 
cpency of their vain and disorderly passions, their uneasi- 


DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. :ai9 

ness, hatreds, envies, and vexations, made known unto 
the world. 

And shall pride be entertained in a heart thus conscious 
of its own miserable behaviour ? 

Shall a creature in such a condition, that he could not 
'Support himself under the shame of being known to the 
world in his real state; shall such a creature, because his 
shame is only known to God, to holy angels, and his 
own conscience 1 shall he, in the sight of God and holy 
angels, dare to be vain and proud of himself? 

Thirdly, If to this we add the shame and guilt of sin, 
we shall find a still greater reason for humility. 

No creature that had lived in innocence, would have 
thereby got any pretence for self-honour and esteem ; 
because as a creature, all that it is, or has, or does, is 
from God, and therefore the honour of all that belongs 
to it, is only due to God. 

But if a creature that is a sinner, and under the dis¬ 
pleasure of the great governor of all the world, and de¬ 
serving nothing from him, but pains and punishments for 
the shameful abuse of his powers ; if such a creature 
pretends to self-glory for any thing that he is, or does., 
he can only be said to glory in his shame. 

Now how monstrous and shameful the nature of sin is, 
is sufficiently apparent from that great atonement that is 
necessary to cleanse us from the guilt of it. 

Nothing less has been required to take away the guilt 
of our sins, than the sufferings and death of the son of 
God. Had he not taken our nature upon him, our na¬ 
ture had been for ever separated from God, and incapa¬ 
ble of ever appearing before him. 

And is there any room for pride or self-glory, whilst 
we are partakers of such a nature as this ? 

Have our sins rendered us so abominable and odious 
to him that made us, that he could not so much as receive 
our prayers, or admit our repentance, till the Son of God 
made himself man, and became a suffering advocate for 
cur whole race ; and can we in this state pretend to high 
thoughts of ourselves ? Shall we presume to take delight 
in our own worth, who arc not worthy so much as to 
ask pardon for our sins, without the mediation and in¬ 
tercession of the son of God ? 


2m 


A SERIOUS CALL TO A 


Thus deep is the foundation of humility laid, in these 
deplorable circumstances of our condition ; which shew, > 
that it is as great an offence against truth, and the rea¬ 
son of things, for a man in this state of things to lay 
claim to any degrees of glory, as to pretend to the hon¬ 
our of creating himself. If man will boast of any thing 
as his own, he must boast of his misery and sin; for there 
h nothing else but this, that is his own property. 

Turn your eyes towards heaven, and fancy that you 
satv what is doing there ; that you saw cherubims and 
Seraphims, and all the glorious inhabitants of that place, 
all united in one work; not seeking glory from one 
another, not labouring their own advancement, not con¬ 
templating their own perfections, not singing their owm 
praises, not valuing themselves, and despising others, but 
all employed in one and the same work ; all happy in 
one and the same joy ; casting' dozvn their crowns before 
the throne of God^ pving glory^ and honoury and /lower 
to him alone. Rev. iv. 10, 11. 

Then turn your eyes to the fallen world, and consider 
how unreasonable and odious it must be, for such poor 
worms, such miserable sinners, to take delight in their 
own fancied glories, whilst the highest and most glorious 
sons of heaven, seek for no other greatness and honour, 
but that of ascribing all honour and greatness, and glory 
to God alone ? 

Pride is only the disorder of the Gllcn world, it has 
no place amongst other beings ; it can only subsist where 
ignorance and sensuality, lies and falsehood, lusts and im¬ 
purity reign. 

l.et a man, wnen he is most delighted with his own 
figure, look upon a ciajcilix, and contemplate our blessed 
Ijord stretched out, and nailed upon a cross ; and tJicu 
let him consider, how absurd it must be, for a heart full 
of pride and vanity, to pray to God, through the suffer¬ 
ings of such a meek and crucified Saviour I 

1 hese are the reflections that you aro often to medi¬ 
tate upon, that you may thereby be disposed to walk be- 
lore God and man in such a spiritof humility,as becomes 
the weak, miserable, sinful state of all that are descended 
from fallen Adam. 

When you have by such general refUxtions as these 


t)tiV6,tfT.AND HOLY LIFE. 


m 


convinced your mind of the reasonableness of humility, 
you must not content yourself with this, as if you was 
therefore humbled, because your mind acknowledges the 
reasonableness of humility, and declares against pride. 
But you must immediately enter yourself into the prac¬ 
tice of this virtue, like a young beginner, that has all of 
it to learn, that can learn but little at a time, and with 
great difficulty. You must consider, that you have not 
only this virtue to learn, but that you must be content 
to proceed as a learner in it all your time, endeavour¬ 
ing after greater degrees of it, and practising every day- 
acts of humility, as you every day practise acts of devo¬ 
tion. 

You would not imagine yourself to be devout because 
in your judgment you approved of prayers, and often 
declared your mind in hivour of devotion. Yet how 
many people imagine themselves humble enough for 
no other reason, but because they often commend hu¬ 
mility, and make vehement declarations against pride ? 

Cascus is a rich man, of good birth, and very fine parts f 
lie is fond of dress, curious in the smallest matters that 
can add any ornament to his person. He is haughty 
and imperious to all his inferiors, is very full of every 
thing that he says or does, and never imagines it possible 
for such a judgment as his to be mistaken. He can 
bear no contradiction, and discovers the weakness of 
your understanding, as soon as ever you oppose him. 
He changes every thing in his* hbuse, his habit, and his 
equipage, as often as any thing more elegant conies in his 
way. Ciecus would have been very religious, but that 
he always thought he w-as so. 

There is nothing so odious to Csecus as a proud man ; 
and the misfortune is, that in this he is so very ciuick- 
sighted, that he discovers in almost every body some 
strokes of vanity. 

On the other hand, he is exceeding fond of humble 
and modest persons. Humility, says he, is so amiable 
a quality, that it forces our esteem wherever we meet 
with it. There is no possibility of despising the mean¬ 
est person that has it, or of esteeming the greatest man 
that wants it. 

Oaecus no more suspects himself to be proud, than he. 
T 2 


A SERldirS CALL to A 


suspects his want of sense. And the reason of it is be-' 
cause he always finds himself in love with humility, and 
so enraged at pride. 

It is very true, Caecus, you speak sincerely when you 
say you love humility, and abhor pride. You are no 
hypocrite, you speak the true sentiments of your mind; 
but then take this along with you, Caecus, that you only 
love humility, and hate pride, in other people. You 
never once in your life thought of any other humility, 
or of any other pride, than that which you have seen in 
other people. 

The case of Caecus is a common case; many people 
live in all the instances of pride, and indulge every vani¬ 
ty that can enter into their minds, and yet never suspect 
themselves to be governed by pride and vanity, because 
they know how much they dislike proud people, and 
how mightily they are pleased with humility and modes¬ 
ty, wherever they find them. 

All their speeches in favour of humility, and all their 
railings against pride, are looked upon as so many true 
exercises, and effects of their own humble spirit. 

Whereas in truth, these are so far from being proper 
acts, or proofs of humility, that they are great arguments 
of the want of it. 

For the fuller of pride any one is himself, the more 
impatient will he be at the smallest instances of it in 
other people. And the less humility any one has in his 
own mind, the more will he demand, and be delighted 
with it in other people. 

You must therefore act by a quite contrary measure, 
and reckon yourself only so far humble, as you impose 
every instance of humility upon yourself, and never call 
for it in other people. So far an enemy to pride, as you 
never spare it in yourself, nor even censure it in other 
persons. 

Now in order to do this, you need only consider, 
that pride and humility signify nothing to you, but so 
far as they are your own ; that they do you neither good 
nor harm, but as they are the tempers of your own 
heart.. 

The loving therefore of humility is of no benefit or 
advantage to you, but so far as you love to see all your 




DliVOUT HDLVLIFE. 


223 


own thoughts, words and actions governed by it. And 
the hating of pride does you no good, is no perfection 
in you, but so far as you hate to harbour any degree of 
it in your own heart. 

Now in order to begin^ and set out well in the prac¬ 
tice of humility, you must take it for granted, that you 
aie proud, that you have all your life been more or less 
infected with this unreasonable temper. 

You should believe also, that it is your greatest weak¬ 
ness, that your heart is most subject to it, that it is so 
constantly stealing upon you, that you have reason to 
watch and suspect its approaches in all your actions. 

For this is what most people, especially new begin¬ 
ners in a pious life, may with great truth think of them¬ 
selves. 

For there is no one vice that is more deeply rooted 
in our nature, or that receives such constant nourish¬ 
ment from almost every thing that we think or do. 
There being hardly any thing in the world that we \yant 
or use, or any action or duty of life, but pride finds some 
means or other to take hold of it. So that at what time 
soever we begin to offer ourselves to God, we can hard¬ 
ly be surer of any thing, than that we have a great deal 
of pride to repent of. 

If therefore you find it disagreeable to your mind to 
entertain this opinion of yourself, and that you cannot 
put yourself amongst those that want to be cured of 
pride, you may be as sure as if an angel from heaven 
had told you, that you have not only much, but all your 
humility to seek. 

For you can have no greater sign of a more confirmed 
pride, than when you think that you arc humble enough. 
He that thinks he loves God enough, shews himsilf to 
be an entire stranger to that holy passion ; so he that 
thinks he has humility enough, shews that he is not so 
much as a beginner in the practice of true humility. 


224 


A SERIOUS CALL TO A 


CHAP. XVli; 

Shcwmg difficult the practice of humility U tnade^ 
by the general spirit and temper of the world. How 
Christianity requireth us to live contrary to the 
world. 

EVERY person, when he first applies himself to 
the exercise of this virtue of humility, must, as I said 
before, consider himself as a learner, that is, to learn 
something that is contrary to former tempers, and habits 
of mind, and which can only be got by daily and con¬ 
stant practice. 

He has not only as much to do, as he that has some 
new art or science to learn ; but he has also a great deal 
to unlearn : He is to forget, and lay aside his own spirit, 
which has been a long while fixing and forming itself; 
he must forget, and depart from abundance of passions 
and opinions, which the fashion, and vogue, and spirit of 
the world has.made natural to him. 

He must lay aside his own spirit; because, as we are 
born in sin, so in pride, which is as natural to us as self- 
love, and continually springs from it. As this is one 
reason why christiahity is so often represented as a new 
birth, and a new spirit. 

He must lay aside the opinions and passions which he 
has received from the world, because the vogue and 
fashion of the world, by which we have been carri¬ 
ed away, as in a torrent, before we could pass rio-ht 
judgments of the value ol things, is in many respects 
contiary to humility; so that we must unlearn what 
the spirit of the world has taught us, before we can be 
governed by the spirit of humility. 

riie devil is called in scripture the prince of this 
wwld, because he has great power in it, because many 
ot its rules and principles are invented by this evil spirit 
^le lather of all lies and falsehood, to separate us from 
Ood, and prevent our return to happiness. 



13EV0UT AND HOLY LIFE, 


225 


Now according to the spivdt and vogue of this world, 
whose corrupt air we have all breathed, there are many 
things that pass for great, and honourable, and most de¬ 
sirable, w'hich yet are so far from being so, that the true 
greatness and honour of our nature consists in the not 
desiring them. 

To abound in wealth, to have fine houses and rich 
clothes, to be attended with splendour and equipage, to 
be beautiful in our persons, to have titles of dignity, to 
be above our fellow creatures, to command the bows and 
obeisance of other people, to be looked on with admira¬ 
tion, to overcome ourenen\ie3 with power, to subdue all 
that oppose us, to set ourselves in as much splendour as 
we can, to live highly and magnificently, to eat and 
drink, and delight ourselves in the most costly manner, 
these are the great, the honourable, the desirable tilings, 
to which the spirit of the world turns the eyes of all peo¬ 
ple. And many a man is afraid of standing still, and not 
engaging in the pursuit of these things, lest the same 
world should take him for a fool. 

The history of the gospel, is chiefly the history of 
Christ’s conquest over the spirit of the world. And the 
number of true Christians, is only the number of those 
who following the spirit of Christ, have lived contrary 
to this spirit of the world. 

If any man hath not the sfiirit of Chr'ist, he is none of 
his. Again, Whosoever is born of Godovercometh the 
nvorld. Set your affections on things above., and not on 
things on the earth ; for ye are dead., and your I fe is hid 
vjith Christ in God. This is the language of the New 
Testament. This is the mark of Christianity; you arc 
to be dead, that is, dead to the spiiit and temper of the, 
world, and live a new life in the spiiit of Jesus Christ. 

But notwithstanding the clearness and plainness of 
these doctrines which thus renounce the world, yet great 
part of Christians live and die slaves to the customs and 
temper of the world. 

How many people swell with pride and vanity, for 
such things as they would not know howto value at all, 
but that they are admired in the world ? 

Would a man take ten years more drudgery in busi¬ 
ness to add two horses more to his coach, but that he 


220* A SERIOUS CALL TO A 

Icnows, that the world most of all admires a coach an^ 
six ? How fearful are many people of having their 
houses poorly furnished, or themselves meanly clothed, 
for this only reason, lest the world should make no ac¬ 
count of them, and place them amongst low and mean 
people ? 

How often would a man have yielded to the haughti¬ 
ness and ill nature ot others, and shew a submissive tem¬ 
per, but that he dares not pass for such a poor spirited 
man in the opinion of the world 

^ Many a man would often drop a resentment, and for¬ 
give an affront, but that he is atraid, if he should, the 
world would not forgive him. 

How many would practise Christian temperance and 
sobriety in its utmost perfection, were it not for the cen¬ 
sure which the world passes upon such a life ? 

Others have frequent intentions of living up to the 
rules of Christian perfection, which they are frighten¬ 
ed from, by considering what the world would say of 
them. 

Thus do the impressions which we have received 
from living in the world enslave our minds, that we dare 
not attempt to be eminent in the sight of God, and 
holy angels, for fear of being little in the eyes of the 
world. 

^ From this quarter arises the great difficulty of humi¬ 
lity, because it cannot subsist in any mind, but so far as 
It is dead to the world, and has parted with all desires 
of enjoying all greatness and honours. So that in order 
to be truly humble, you must unlearn all those notions 
which you have been all your life learning from this cor¬ 
rupt spirit of the world. 

\ou can make no stand against the assaults of pride, 
the meek affections of humility can have no place in your J 
soul, till you stop the power of the world over you, and 
resolve against a blind obedience to its laws. * 

And when you are once advanced thus far, as to be 
able to stand still in the torrent of worldly fashions and 
opinions, and examine the wmrth and value of things 
which are most admired and valued in the world, you 
have gone a great way in the gaining of your freedom. 



BEVOUl AiNB liULl L.ll’i:.. 


I and nave laid a good foundation for the amendment of 
I your heart. 

For as great as the power of the world is, it is all built 
I upon a blind obedience, and we need only open our eyes, 
i to get quit of its power. Ask who you will, learned or 
I unlearned, every one seems to know and confess, that 
the general temper and spirit of the world, is nothing 
I else but humour, folly and extravagance. 

I Who will not own, that the wisdom of philosophy, the 
i piety of religion, was always confined to a small number ? 

I And is not this expressly owning and confessing, that the 
; common spirit and temper of the world, is neither ac- 
I cording to the wisdom of philosophy, nor the piety of 



The world therefore seems enough condemned even 
by itself, to make it very easy for a thinking man to be 
of the same judgment. 

And therefore I hope you will not think it a hard 
saying, that in order to be humble, you must withdraw 
your obedience from that vulgar spirit which gives laws 
to fops and coquettes, and form your judgments accord¬ 
ing to the wisdom of philosophy and the piety of reli¬ 
gion. Who would be afraid of making such a change 
as this ? 

Again, To lessen your fear and regard to the opinion 
of the world, think how soon the world will disregard 
you, and have no more thought or concern about you, 
than about the poorest animal that died in a ditch. 

Your frieirds, if they can, may bury you with some 
distinction, and set up a monument to let posterity see 
that your dust lies under such a stone ; and when that is 
done, all is done. Your piacc is filled up by another, 
the world is just in the same state it was, you are blotted 
out of its sight, and as much forg<jtten by the world as 
if you had never belonged to it. 

Tiiink upon the rich, the great, and the learned per¬ 
sons, that have made great figures, and been high in the 
esteem of the world ; many of them died in your time, 
and yet they are ^^iink, and lost, and gone, and as much 
disregarded by the world, as if they had been only so 
many bubble s of water. 

Think again, iiovv many poor s- u!? see heaven lost, and 


228 


A SERIOUS CALL TO A 


lie now expecting a miserable eternity, for their service 
and homage to a world, that thinks itself every whit as 
well without them, and is just as merry as it was v/hen 
they were in it ? 

Is it therefore worth your while to lose the smallest 
degree of virtue, for the sake of pleasing so bad a mas« 
ter, and so false a friend as the world is ? 

Is it worth your while to bow the knee to such an idol 
as this, that so soon will have neither eyes, nor ears, nor 
a heart to regard you ; instead of serving that great, and 
holy, and mighty God, that will make all his servants 
partakers of his own eternity ? 

Will you let the fear of a false world, that has no love 
for you, keep you from the fear of that God, who has 
only created you, that he may love and bless you to all 
eternity ? 

Lastly, You must consider what behaviour the profes¬ 
sion of Christianity requireth of you, with regard to the 
world ; 

Now this is plainly delivered in these words; JV/io 
gave himself for our sins that he might deliver us from 
this present evil nvor'd^ Gal. i. 4. Christianity therefore 
implieth a deliverance from this world ; and he that 
professeth to live contrary to every thing, and every 
temper, that is peculiar to this evil world. 

St. John declareth his opposition to the world in this 
manner, Thexj are of the world : therefore speak they of 
the worlds and the world heareth them. JFe are of God, 

1 John iv. 5. Tnis is the description of the followers of 
Christ; and it is proof enough that no people are to be 
reckoned Christians in reality, who in their hearts and 
tempers belong to this world. IVe know, saith the same 
apostle, that we are of God, and the whole world lieth in 
zvickedness, c. v. ver. 19. Christians therefore can no 
farther know that they are of God, than so far as they 
know that they are not of the world ; that is, that they 
do not live according to the ways and spirit of the world. 
For all the ways, and maxims, and politics, and tempers 
of the world, lie in wickedness. And he is only of God, 
or borne of God in Christ Jesus, who has overcome this 
world, that is, who has chose to live by faith, and govern- 


DEVOUT AND HOLY UFE. 22$ 

his actions by the principles of a wisdom revealed from 
tiod by Christ Jesas. 

St. Paul takes it for a certainty so well known to 
chnstians, that they are no longer to be considered as 
living in this world, that he thus argues from it, as from 
an undeniable principle, concerning the abolishing the 
ntes of the Jewish law : Wherefore if ye be dead with 
Christ from the rudiments of the world, why, as thouqk 
living in the world, are ye subject to ordinances ? Cob 
ii. 20. Here could be no argument in this, but in the 
apostles* taking it for undeniable, that Christians knew, 
that their profession required them to have done with all 
the tempers and passions of this world, to live as citi¬ 
zens of the new Jerusalem, and to have their conversa¬ 
tion in heaven. 

Our blessed Lord himself has fully determined this 
point in these words : They are not of this world, as I 
am not of this world. This is the state of Christianity 
with regard to this world. If you are not thus out of 
and contrary to the world, you want the distinguishing 
mark of Christianity ; you do not belong to Christ, but 
by being out of the world as he was out of it. 

We may deceive ourselves, il we please, with vain and 
softening commands upon these words, but they are and 
will be understood in their Imst simplicity and plainness, 
by every one that reads them in tiie same spirit that our 
blessed Lord spoke them. And to understand them in 
any lower, less significant meaning, is to let carnal wis¬ 
dom explain away that doctrine, by which itself was to 
be destroyed. 

The Christian’s great conquest over the world, is all 
contained in the mystery of Clirist upon the cross. It 
was there, and from thence, that he taught all Christians 
how they were to come out of, and conquer the world, 
and what they were to do in order to be his disciples! 
And all the doctrines, sacraments, and institutions of 
the gospel, are only so many explications of the mean¬ 
ing, and applications of the benefit of this great mys^ 
teiy. ^ 

And the state of Christianity implleth nothing else 
but an entire, absolute conformity to that spirit which 


2^0 A SERIOUS CALL TO A 

Christ shewed in the mysterious sacrifice of himself 
upon the cross. 

Every man therefore, is only so far a Christian as he 
partakes of this spirit of Christ. It was this that made 
St. Paul so passionately express himself, God forbid that 
I should glory^ save in the cross of our Lord Jesus 
Christ: but why does he glory ? Is it because Christ 
had suffered in his stead, and had excused him from suf¬ 
fering ? No, by no means. But it was because his Chris¬ 
tian profession had called him to the honour of suffering 
with Christ, and of dying to the world under reproach 
and contempt, as he had done upon the cross. For he 
immediately adds, by nvhojn the world is crucified unto 
me^ and I unto the worlds Gal. vi. 14. This you see 
was the reason of his glorying in the cross of Christ, 
because he liad called him to a like state of death and 
crucifixion to the world. 

Thus was the cross of Christ, in St. PauFs days, the 
glory of Christians; not as it signified their not being 
ashamed to own a master that was crucified, but as it 
signified their glorying in a religion, which was nothing 
else but a doctrine of the cross, that called them to the 
same suffering spirit, the same sacrifice of themselves, 
the same renunciation of the world, the same humility 
and meekness, the same patient bearing of injuries, re¬ 
proaches, and contempts, and the same dying to all the 
greatness, honours, and happiness of the world, which 
Christ shewed upon the cross. 

To have a true idea of Christianity, we must not con¬ 
sider our blessed Lord as suffering in our stead, but as 
our representative, acting in our name, and with such 
particular merit, as to make our joining with him ac¬ 
ceptable unto God. 

He suffered, and was a sacrifice, to make our suffer¬ 
ings and sacrifice of ourselves fit to be received by God. 
And we are to suffer, to be crucified, to die, and rise 
with Christ; or else his crucifixion, death and resur¬ 
rection will profit us nothing. 

The necessity of this conformity to all that Christ did, 
and suffered upon our account, is very piain from the 
whole tenor of scripture. 

First, As to his sufferings, this is the only conditiom 


DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 


of our beinc^ saved by them, if, wc suffer with him, we 
shall also reign with him/’ 

Secondly, As to his crucifixion. “ Knowing this, that 
our old man is crucified with him,” See. Rom. vi. 6. 
Here you see Christ is not crucified in our stead ; but 
unless our old man be really crucified with him, the 
cross of Christ will profit us nothing. 

Thirdly, As to the death of Cfirist, the condition is 
this ; “ If w e be dead with Christ, we believe that -vve 
shall also live with him.” If therefore Christ be dead 
alone, if we are not dead w'ith him, w e are as sure, from 
this scripture, that we shall not live with him. 

Lastly, As to the resurrection of Christ, the scripture 
sheweth us how we are to partake of the benefit of it: 
“ If ye be risen with Christ, seek those things which are 
above, where Christ sitteth on the right hand of God,” 
Col. iii. 1. 

Thus you see how plainly the scripture sets forth our 
blessed Lord, as our representative, acting and suffering 
in our name, binding and obliging us to conform to all 
that he did and suffered for us. 

It was for this reason, that the holy Jesus said of his 
disciples, and in them of all true believers, “ They are 
not of this world, as I am not of this world.’’ Because 
all true believers conforming to the sufferings, cruci¬ 
fixion, death, and resurrection of Christ, live no longer 
after the spirit and temper of this world, but their life is 
hid with Christ in God. 

This is the state of separation from the world, to which 
all orders of Christians are called. They must so far 
renounce all worldly tempers, be so far governed by the 
things of another life, as to shew, that they are truly and 
really crucified, dead, and risen with Christ. And it is 
as necessary for all Christians to conform to this great 
change of spirit, to be thus in Christ new creatures, as 
it was necessary that Christ should suffer, die, and rise 
again for our salvation. 

How high the Christian life is placed above the ways 
of this world, is wonderfully described by St. Paul in 
these words : ‘‘ Wherefore henceforth know we no man 
after the flesh ; yea though we have known Christ after 
the flesh; yet henceforth w'e know him no more. There- 


A SERIOUS CALL TO A 


foi’e if any man be in Christ, he is a new creature : oM 
things are passed away ; behold all things are become 
new/** 2 Cor. v. 16. 

He that feels the force and spirit of these words, can 
hardly bear any human interpretation of them. Hence¬ 
forth, says he ; that is, since the death and resurrection 
of Christ, the state of Christianity is become so glorious 
a state, that we do not even consider Christ himself as in 
the flesh upon earth, but as a God of glory in heaven; 
we know and consider ourselves not as men in the flesh, 
but as fellow members of a new society, that are to 
have all our hearts, our tempers, and conversation it} 
heaven. 

Thus it is that Christianity has placed us out of, and 
above the world ; and we fall from our calling, as soon 
as we fall into the tempers of the world. 

Now as it was the spirit of the world that nailed our 
blessed Lord^ to the cross; so every man that has the 
spirit of Christ, that opposes the world, as he did, will 
certainly be crucified by the world some way or other. 

For Christianity still lives in the same world that 
Christ did ; and these two will be utter enemies, till the 
kingdom of darkness is entirely at an end. 

Had you lived with our Saviour as his true disciple^ 
pu had then been hated as he was; and if you now live 
in his spirit, the world will be the same enemy to you 
now, that it was to him then, 

‘‘If yc were of the world,” saith our blessed Lord, 
“die world would love its own ; but because ye are not 
of the world, but I have chosen you out of the world, 
therefore the world hateth you.” John xv. 19. 

We arc apt to lose the true meaning of these words, 
by considering them only as an historical description of 
r-omething that was the state of our Saviour and his dis¬ 
ciples at that lime. But this is reading the scripture as a 
dead letter ; for they as exactly describe the state of 
true Christians at this, and all other times to the end of 
the world. 

For as true Christianity is nothing else but the spirit 
©f Christ, so whether that spirit appear in the person of 
Christ himself, or his apostles, gr followers in any age. 


DE VOtJT Km HOLY LIFE. 233 

it is the same thing;; whoever hath his spirit will be 
hated, despised, and condemned by the world as he was. 

For the world will always love its own, and none but 
its own : this is as certain and unchangeable, as the con¬ 
trariety betwixt light and darkness. 

When the holy Jesu > saith. If the world hate you^ (he 
does not add by way of consolation, that it may some 
time or other cease its hatred, or that it will not always 
hate them ; but he only gives this as a reason for their 
bearing it,) You know that it hated me before it hated 
you : signifying, that it was he, that is, his spirit, that by 
reason of its contrariety to the world, was then, and 
always would be hated by it. 

You will perhaps say, that the world is now become 
Christian, at least that part of it where we live; and 
therefore the world is not to be considered in that state 
of opposition to Christianity, as when it was heathen. 

It is granted, the world now professeth Christianity, 
but will any one say, that this Christian world is of the 
spirit of Christ ? Are its general tempers the tempers of 
Christ ? Are the passioiis of sensuality, self-love, pride, 
covetousness, ambition, and vain glory, less contrary to 
the spirit of the gospel, now they are anwngst Christians, 
than when they were amongst heathens I Or will you 
say, that the tempers and passions of the heathen world 
are lost and gone I 

Consider, Secondly, What you are to mean by the 
world. Now this is fully described to our hands by St. 
John. vY// that is in the worlds the lust of the fleshy the 
lust of the eyes^ and the pride oflife^ &c. 1 John iii. 16. 
This is an exact and full description of the world. Now 
will you say, that this world is become Christian I But 
if all this still subsists, then the same world is now in 
being, and the same enemy to Christianity, that was in St. 
John's days. 

It was this world that St. John condemned, as being 
not of the father j whether therefore it outwardly pro¬ 
fesseth, or openly persecuteth Christianity, it is still in 
the same state of contrariety to the true spirit and holi¬ 
ness of the gospel. 

And indeed the world by professing Christianity, is so 

U 2 


A Sl^iUOtrS CALL TO A 


ftir from being a less dangerous enemy than it was be¬ 
fore, that it has by its favours destroyed more Christians 
than ever it did by the most violent persecution. 

We must therefore be so far from considering the 
world as in a state of less enmity and opposition to Chris¬ 
tianity, than it was in the first times of the gospel, that 
we must guard against it as a greater and more dange¬ 
rous enemy now, than it was in those times. 

It is a greater enemy, because it has greater power 
ov«r Christians by its favours, riches, honours, rewards, 
and protections, than it had by the fire and fury of its 
persecutions. 

It is a more dangerous enemy, by having lost its ap¬ 
pearance of enmity. Its outward professions of Christi¬ 
anity makes it no longer considered as an enemy, and 
therefore the generality of people are easily persuaded 
to resign themselves up to be governed and directed 
by it. 

How many consciences are kept as quiet, upon no 
other foundation, but because they sin under the autho¬ 
rity of the Christian world ? 

How many directions of the gospel lie by unregarded ; 
and how unconcernedly do particular persons read them ; 
for no other reason, but because they seem unregarded 
by the Christian world ? 

How many compliances do people make to the Chris¬ 
tian world, without any hesitation, or remorse ; which, 
if they had been required of them only by heathens, 
would have been refused, as contrary to the holiness of 
ehristianity ? 

Who could be content with seeing how contrary his 
life is to the gospel, but because he secs that he lives 
as the Christian world doth ? 

Who that reads the gospel, would want to be persuad¬ 
ed of the necessity of great self-denial, humility, and 
poverty of spirit, but that the authority of the world has 
banished this doctrine of the cross ? 

There is nothing therefore, that a good Christian ought 
to be more suspicious of, or more constantly guarded 
against, than the authority of the Christian world. 

And all the passages of scripture, w’hich represent the 
world as contrary to Christianity, which reqture our sepa- 


DEVOUT xVND HOLY LIFE. 


2o5 


ration from it as from a mammon of unrighteousness, a 
monster of iniquity, are all to be taken in the same strict 
sense, in relation to the present Avorld. 

' For the change that the world has undergone, has only 
altered its methods, but not lessened its power of de¬ 
stroying religion. 

Christians had nothing to fear from the heathen vforlcl, 
but the loss of their lives ; but the world become a 
friend, makes it difficult for them to save their religion. 

Whilst pride, sensuality, covetousness, and ambition, 
had only the authority of the heathen world, Christians 
were thereby made more intent upon the contrary vir¬ 
tues. But when pride, sensuality, covetousness, and 
ambition, have the authority of the Christian world, then 
private Christians are in the utmost danger, not only of 
being shamed out of the practice, but of losing the very 
notion of the piety of the gospel. 

There is therefore hardly any possibility of saving 
yom'self from the present world, but by considering it as 
the same Avicked enemy to all true holiness, as it is re¬ 
presented in the scriptures ; and by assuring yourself, 
that it is as dangerous to conform to its tempers and pas¬ 
sions, now it is Christian, as Avhen it Avas heathen. 

For only ask yourself, is the piety, the humility, the 
sobriety of the Christian Avorld, the piety, the humility 
and sobriety of the Christian spirit ? If not, Itoav can you 
be more undone by any world, than by conforming to 
tliat which is Christian ? 

Need a man do more to make his soul unfit for the 
mercy of God, than by being greedy and ambitious of 
honour ? Yet how can a man renounce this temper, 
Avithout renouncing the spirit and temper of the Avorld, 
in Avhich you noAv live ? 

How can a man be made more incapable of the spirit 
of Christ, than by a Avrong value for money ; and yet 
how can he be more wrong in his value of it, than by 
folloAving the authority of the Christian world ? 

Nay, in every order and station of life, Avhethcr of 
learning or business, either in Church or state, you can¬ 
not act up to the spirit of religion without renouncing 
the most general temper and behaviour of those, who 
are of the same order and business as yourself. 


A SERIOUS GALL TO A 


And though human prudence seems to talk mighty 
wisely about the necessity of avoiding particularities, 
yet he that dares not to be so- weak as to be particular, 
will be often obliged to avoid the most substantial duties 
of Christian piety. 

These reflections will, I hope, help you to break 
through those difficulties, and resist those temptations, 
which the authority and fashion of the world hath raised 
against the practice of Christian humility. 


CHAP. XVIII. 

Sheit;ing how the education which men generally receive 
in their youths makes the doctrine of humility difficult 
to be practised. The spirit of a better education^ 
represented in the character of Paternus. 

ANOTHER difficulty in the practice of humility,, 
arises from our education. We are all of us, for the 
most part, corruptly educated, and then committed to 
take our course in a corrupt world ; so that it is no won¬ 
der, if examples of great piety are so seldom seen. 

Great part of the world are undone, by being born 
and bred in families that have no religion ; where they 
are made vicious and irregular, by being like those with 
whom they first lived. 

But this is not the thing I now mean ; the education 
that I here intend, is such as children generally receive 
from virtuous and sober parents, and learned tutors and 
governors. 

Had we continued perfect, as God created the first 
man, perhaps the perfection of our nature had been a 
sufficient self-instruction for every one. But as sick¬ 
ness and diseases have created the necessity of medi¬ 
cines and physicians, so the change and disorder of our 
rational nature has introduced the necessity of education 
and tutors. 

And as the only end of the physician is, to restore na¬ 
ture to its own state; so the only end of education is, 
to restore our rational nature to its proper state. Edti- 


DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 


2S7 

cation therefore is to be considered as reason borrowed 
at second hand, which is, as far as it can, to supply the 
loss of original perfection. And as physic may justly 
be called the art of restoring health, so education should 
be considered in no other light, than as the art of recov¬ 
ering to man the use of his reason. 

Now as the instruction of every art or science is found¬ 
ed upon the discoveries, the wisdom, experience, and 
maxims of the several great men that have laboured in 
it; so that human wisdom, or right use of our reason, 
\yhich young people should be called to by their educa¬ 
tion, is nothing else but the best experience and finest 
reasonings of men, that have devoted themselves to the 
study of wisdom, and the improvement of human na¬ 
ture. 

All therefore that great saints and dying men, when 
the fullest of light and conviction, and after the highest 
improvement of their reason, all that they have said of 
the necessity of piety, of the excellency of virtue, of their 
duty to God, of the emptiness of riches, of the vanity of 
the world ; all the sentences, judgments, reasonings, and 
maxims of the wisest of philosophers, when in their high¬ 
est state of wisdom, should constitute the common lessons 
of instruction for youthful minds. 

This is the only way to make the young and ignorant 
part of the world the better for the wisdom and know¬ 
ledge of the wise and ancient 

An education which is not wholly intent upon this, is 
as much beside the point, as an art of physic, that had 
little or no regard to the restoration of health. 

The youths that attended upon Pythagoras, Socrates, 
Plato, and Epictetus, were thus educated. Their every 
day lessons and instructions were so many lectures upon 
the nature of man, his true end, and the right use of his 
faculties; upon the immortality of the soul, its relation 
to God, the beauty of virtue, and its agreeableness to the 
divine nature ; upon the dignity of reason, the necessity 
of temperance, fortitude and generosity, and the shame 
and folly of indulging our passions. 

Now as Christianity has, as it v/ere, new created the 
moral and religious world, and set every thing that is 
reasonable, wise, holy and desirable, in its true point 


*338 


A SERIOUS CALL TO A 


of light; so one would expect, that the education of 
youth should be as much bettered and amended by 
Christianity, as the faith and doctrines of religion arc 
amended by it. 

As it has introduced such a new state of things, and 
so fully informed us of the nature of man, the ends of 
his creation, the state of his condition ; as it has fixed 
all our goods and evils, taught us the means of purifying 
our souls, pleasing God, and becoming eternally happy ; 
one might natui’aiiy suppose, that every Christian coun¬ 
try abounded with schools few’ the teaching not only a 
few questions and answers of a catechism, but for the 
forming, training and practising youths in such an out¬ 
ward course of life, as the highest precepts, the strictest 
rules, and the sublimest doctrines of Christianity re¬ 
quire. 

An education under Pythagoras, or Socrates, had no 
other end, but to teach youth to think, judg#, act, and 
follow such rules of life, as Pythagoras and Socrates 
used. 

And is it not as reasonable to suppose, that a Chris¬ 
tian education should have no other end, but to teach 
youth how to think, and judge, and act, and live accord¬ 
ing to the strictest laws of Christianity ? 

At least one would suppose, that in all Christian 
schools, the teaching youth to begin their lives in the 
spirit of Christianity, in such severity of behaviour, such 
abstinence, sobriety,humility and devotion, as Christianity 
requires, should not only be more, but an hundred times 
more regarded, than any, or all things else. 

For our education should imitate our guardian angels, 
suggest nothing to our minds but what is wise and holy ; 
help us to discover and subdue every vain passion of our 
hearts, and every false judgment of our minds. 

And it is as sober and reasonable to expect and require 
all this benefit of a Christian education, as to require 
that physic should strengthen all that is right in our na¬ 
ture, and remove that which is sickly and diseased. 

But alas, our modern education is not of this kind. 

The first temper that we try to a/.aken in children, 
is pride ; as dangerous a passion as that of lust. Wc 
stir them up to vain thoughts of themselves, and do every 



DEVOUT AND HOLY LTFK 


!^39 

thing we can, to puff up their minds with a sense of 
their own abilities. 

Whatever way of life we intend them for, we apply 
to tlie fire and vanity of their minds, and exhort them to 
every thing from corrupt motives : We stir them up to 
actioti from principles of strife and ambition, from glory, 
envy, and a desire of distinction, that they may excel 
others, and shine in the eyes of the world. 

We repeat and inculcate these motives upon them, 
till tney think it a part of their duty to be proud, envi* 
ous, and» vain-glorious of their own accomplishments. 

And when we have taught them to scorn to be out- 
' done by any, to bear no rival, to thirst after every instance 
of applause, to be content with nothing but the highest 
distinctions; then we begin to take comfort in them, and 
promise the world some mighty things from youths of 
such a glorious spirit. 

If children are intended for holy orders, we set before 
them some eminent orator, wdiose fine preaching has 
made him the admiration of the age, and carried him 
through all the dignities and preferments of the church. 

We encourage them to have these honours in their 
eye, and to expect the reward of their studies from 
them. 

If the youth is intended for a trade, we bid him look 
at all the rich men of the same trade, and consider how 
many now are carried about in their stately roaches, who 
began in the same low degree as he now does. We 
awaken his admiration, and endeavour to give his mind 
a right turn, by often telling him how very rich such and 
such a tradesman died. 

If he is to be a lawyer, then we set great counsellors, 
lovds, judges, chancellors, before his eyes. We tell him 
what great fees, and great applause attend fine pleading. 
We exhort him to take fire at these things, to raise a 
spirit of emulation in himself, and to be content with 
nothing less than the highest honours of the long robe. 

That this is the nature of our best education, is too 
plain to need any proof; and I believe there are few pa¬ 
rents, but would be glad to see these instructions daily 
given to their children. 

And after all this, we complain of the effects of pride; 


^240 


A SERIOUS CALL TO A 


we wonder to see grown men acted and governed by 
ambition, envy, scorn, and a desire of glory ; not consi¬ 
dering that they were all the time of their youth, called 
upon to all their action and industry upon the same prin¬ 
ciples. 

You teach a child to scorn to be out-done, to thirst for 
distinction and applause ^ and is it any wonder that he 
continues to act all his life in the same manner ? 

Now if a youth is ever to be so far a Christian as to 
govern his heart by the doctrines of humility, I would 
fain know at what time he is to begin it; or if he is ever 
to begin at all, why we train him up in tempers quite 
contrary to it ? 

How dry and poor must the doctrine of humility 
sound to a youth, that has been spurred up to all his in¬ 
dustry by ambition, envy, emulation, and a desire of glory 
and distinction r And if he is not to act by these princi¬ 
ples when he is a man, why do we call him to act by 
them in his youth ? 

Envy is acknowledged by all people, to be the most 
ungenerous, base and wicked passion, that can enter into 
the heart of man. 

And is this a temper to be instilled, nourished and 
established in the minds of young people ? 

I know it is said, that it is not envy, but emulation, 
that is intended to be awakened in the minds of young 
men. 

But this is vainly said. For when children are taught 
to bear no rival, and to scorn to be out-done by any of 
their age, they are plainly and directly taught to be en¬ 
vious. For it is impossible for any one to have this 
scorn of being out-done, and this contention with rivals, 
without burning with envy against those that seem to 
excel him, or get any distinction from him. So that 
what children are taught, is rank envy, and only covered 
with a name of a less odious sound. 

Secondly, If envy is thus confessedly bad, and it be 
only emulation that is endeavoured to be awakened in 
children, surely there ought to be great care taken, that 
children may know the one from the other. That they 
may abominate the one as a great crime, whilst they 
give the other admission into their minds. 


DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 


241 


But if this were to be attempted, the fineness of the 
distinction betwixt, envy and emulation, would shew that 
it was easier to divide them into words, than to separate 
them in action. 

For emulation, when it is defined in its best manner, 
is nothing else but a refinement upon envy, or rather 
the most plausible part of that black and venomous, 
passion. 

And though it is easy to separate them in the notion, 
yet the most acute philosopher, that understands the art 
of distinguishing ever so well, if he gives himself up to 
emulation, will certainly find himself deep in envy. 

' For envy is not an original temper, but the natural, 
necessary, and unavoidable effect of emulation, or a de~ 
sire of glory. 

So that he who establishes the one in the minds of 
people, necessarily fixes the other there. And there is 
no other possible way of destroying envy, but by destroy¬ 
ing emulation, or a desire of glory. For the one always 
rises and falls in proportion to the other. 

I know it is said in defence of this method of educa¬ 
tion, that ambition, and a desire of glory, arc necessary 
to excite young people to industry ; and that if we* 
were to press upon tnem the doctrines of humility, we 
snouid deject their minds, and sink them into dulncss* 
and idleness. 

But tnese people who say this, do not consider, that 
this reason, if it nas any strength, is full as strong against 
pressing the doctrines of humility upon grown men, lest 
we should deject the minds, and sink them into dulness 
and idleness. 

For wno does not see that middle-aged men want as 
much the assistance of pride, ambition, and vain-glory, 
to spur them up to action and industry, as children do ? 
And it is very certain, that the precepts of humility are 
more contrary to the designs of such men, and more 
grievous to their minds, when they are pressed upon 
them, than they are to the minds of young persons. 

This reason taerefore that is given, why children 
should not be trained up in the principles of true humi¬ 
lity, is as good a reason way the same humility should- 
never be required of grown men. '* 

W 


^42 


A SERIOUS CALL TO A 


Thirdly^ Let those people, who think that children 
would be spoiled, if they were not thus educated, con¬ 
sider this. 

Could they think, that if any children had been edu¬ 
cated by our blessed Lord, or his holy apostles, that 
their minds would have been sunk into dulness and idle¬ 
ness. 

Or could they think, that such children would not have 
been trained up in the profoundest principles of a strict 
and true humility ? Can they say that our blessed Lord, 
who was the meekest and humblest man that ever was 
on earth, was hindered by his humility from being the 
greatest example of worthy and glorious actions, that 
ever were done by man ? 

Can they say that his apostles, who lived in the hum¬ 
ble spirit of their Master, did therefore cease to be la¬ 
borious and active instruments of doing good to all the 
world ? 

A few such reflections as these, are sufficient to ex¬ 
pose all the poor pretences for an education in pride and 
ambition. 

Paternus lived about two hundred years ago ; he had 
but one son, whom he educated himself in his own 
house. As they were sitting together in the garden, 
when the child was ten years old, Paternus thus began 
to him. 

The little time that you have been in the world, my 
child, you have spent wholly with me ; and my love and 
tenderness to you, has made you look upon me as your 
only friend and benefactor, and the cause of all the com¬ 
fort and pleasure that you enjay; your heart, I know, 
Avould be ready to break with grief, if you thought this 
was the last day that I should live with you. 

But, my child, though you now think yourself mighty 
happy, because you have hold of my hand, you are now 
in the hands, and under the care of a much greater fa¬ 
ther and friend than I am, whose love to you is far great¬ 
er than mine, and from whom you receive such blessings 
as no mortal can give. 

That God whom you have seen ihe daily worship; 
whom I daily call upon to bless both you and me, and 
all naan tod \ whose wondrous acts are recorded in those 


DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE, 24^ 

^riptures %vhkh you constantly read. That God who 
created the hea^’ens and the earth ; who brought a flood^ 
upon the whole world; who saved Noah in the ark ; 
who was the God of y\braham, Isaac, and Jacob, whont 
Job blessed and praised in the greatest afflictions ; who 
delivered the Israelites out of the hands of the Egyp¬ 
tians ; who was the protector of righteous Joseph, Moses, 
Joshua and holy Daniel, who sent so many prophets in¬ 
to the world, who sent his Son Jesus Christ to redeem 
mankind : This God, who has done all these great 
things, who has created so many millions of men, wlio 
lived and died before you was born, with whom the 
spirits of good men that are departed this life, now live, 
whom infinite numbers of angels now worship in hea¬ 
ven ; this great God who is the creator of worlds, of 
angels, and men, is your loving Father and friend, your 
good creator and nourisher, from w'hom, and not from 
me, you received your being ten years ago, at the time 
that I planted that little tender elm which you there 
see. 

I myself am not half the age of this shady oak, under 
which we sit; many of our fathers have sat under its 
boughs, we have all of us called it ours in our turn, 
though it stands, and drops its masters, as it drops it^ 
leaves. 

You see, my son, this wide and large firmament over 
our heads, where the sun and moon, and all the stars ap¬ 
pear in their turns. If you was to be carried up to any 
of these bodies at this vast distance from us, you would 
still discover others as niuch above, as the stars that you 
see here are above the earth. Were you to go up or 
down, east or w'est, north or south, you would find the 
same height without any top, and the same depth without 
any bottom. 

And yet, my child, so great is God, that all these bo¬ 
dies added together irre but as a grain of sand in his sight. 
And yet you are as much the care of this great God and 
Father of all worlds, and all spirits, as if he had no son 
but you, or there were no creature for him to love and 
protect but you alone. He numbers the hairs of your 
head, watches over you sleeping and waking, and has 


A SEH10l>S €ALL TO A 


244. 

preserved yoti from a thousand dangers, which neither 
you nor I know any thing of. 

How poor my power is, and how little I am able to 
do for you, you have often seen. Your late sicKness has 
shewn you how little I could do for you in that state; 
and the frequent pains of your head are plain proofs, 
that I have no power to remove them. 

I can bring you food and medicines, but have no power 
to turn them into your relief and nourishment; it is God 
alone that can do this for you. 

Therefore, my child, fear and worship, and love God. 
Your eyes indeed cannot yet see him, but every thing 
you see, are so many marks of his power and presence, 
and he is nearer to you, than any thing that you can 
see. 

Take him for your Lord and Father, and Friend, look 
up unto him as the fountain and cause of all the good 
that you have received through my hands, and reverence 
me only as the bearer and minister of God’s good things 
unto you. And he that blessed my father before I was 
born, will bless you when I am dead. 

Your youth and little mind is only yet acquainted with 
my family, and therefore you think there is no happiness 
out of it. 

But my child, you belong to a greater family than 
mine, you are a younger member of the family of lliis 
Almighty Father of all nations, who has created iiifinite 
orders cf angels, and numberless generations of men, to 
be fellow-members of one and the same society in 
heaven. 

You do well to reverence and obey my aiitb.oritv, be¬ 
cause God has given me powder over you, to bring you 
up in his fear, and to do for you, as the holy fathers re¬ 
corded in scripture did for their children, vvho arc nov* 
in rest and peace with God. 

I shall in a short time die, and leave you to God, and 
yourself; and it God forgiveth my sins, I shall go to his 
Son Jesus Christ, and live amongst patriarchs and pro¬ 
phets, saints and martyrs, where I shall pray for you, 
and hope for your safe arrival at the same place. 

Therefore, my child, meditate on these great things, 


/ 


DKVOlfT AND HOLV LIFE* 


245 

and your soul will soon grow' great and noble by so medi¬ 
tating upon them. 

Let your thoughts often leave these gardens, these 
fields and farms, to contemplate upon God and heaven,, 
to consider upon angels, and the spirits of good men 
living in light and glory. 

As you have been used to look to me in all your ac¬ 
tions, and have been afraid to do any thing, unless you 
first knew^ my will ; so let it now be a rule of your life, 
to look up to God in all your actions, to do every thing 
in his fear, and to abstain from every thing that is not 
according to his will. 

Bear him always in your mind, teach your thoughts 
to reverence him in every place, for there is no place 
where he is not. 

God keepeth a book of life, w herein all the actions of 
all men arc written ; your name is there, my child, and 
when you die, this book will be laid open before men 
and angels, and according as your actions are there 
found, you will either be received to the happiness of 
those holy men who have died before you, or be turned 
away amongst wicked spirits, that arc never to see God 
any more* 

Never forget this book, my son, for it is written, it 
must be opened, you must see it, and you must be tried 
by it. Strive therefore to fill it with your good deeds, 
that the hand-w'iiting of God may not appear against 
you. ' 

God, my child, is all love, and w isdom, and goodness ; 
and every thing that he has made, and every action that 
he does, is the eftect of them all. Therefore you can¬ 
not please God, but so far as Vou strive to walk in love, 
wisdom and goodness. As all wisdom, love and good¬ 
ness proceeds from God, so nothing but love, w isdom 
and goodness can lead to God. 

When you love that which God loves, you act with 
him, you join yourself to him ; and when you love 
what he dislikes, then you oppose him, and separate 
yourself from him. This is the true and the right way ; 
think what God loves, and do you love it with all your 
heart. 

First of all, my child, worship and adore God, think 
W 2 


2^ A SERIOUS CALL TO A 

®f him magnificently, speak of him reverently, magnif)r 
his providence, adore his power, frequent his service, 
and pray unto him frequently and constantly. 

Next to this, love your neighbour, which is all man¬ 
kind, with such tenderness and affection, as you lovo- 
yourself. Think how God loves all mankind, how mer¬ 
ciful he is to them, how tender he is of them, how care¬ 
fully he preserves them, and then strive to love the world 
as God loves it. 

God would have all men to be happy^ therefore da 
you will, and desire the same. All men are great in¬ 
stances of divine love, therefore let all men be instances 
of your love. 

But above all, my son, mark this, never do any thing 
through strife, or envy, or emulation, or vain glory. 
Never do any thing in order to excel other people^ but 
in order to please God, and because it is his will, that 
you should do every tiling in the best manner that you 
can. 

For if it is once a pleasure to you to excel other peo¬ 
ple, it will by degrees be a pleasure to you, to see other 
people not so good as yourself. 

^ Banish therefore every thought of self-pride, and self¬ 
distinction, and accustom yourself to rejoice in all the 
excellencies and perfections of your fellow-creatures 
and be as glad to see any of their good actions,^ as your 
own. 

For as God is as well pleased with their well doings 
as with yours; so you ought to desire that every thing 
that^ is wise, and holy, and good, may be performed in 
as high a manner by other people, as by yourself. 

Let this therefore be your only motive and spur to all 
good actions, honest industry, and business, to do every 
thing in as perfect and excellent a manner as you can 
for this only reason, because it is pleasing to God, who 
desires your perfection, and writes all your actions in a 
book. When I am dead my son, you will be master of 
all my estate, which will be a great deal more than the 
necessities of one family require. Therefore, as you arc 
to be charitable to the souls of men, and wish them the 
happiness with you in heaven, so be charitable to 


DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 04- 

their bodies, and endeavour to make them as happy as 
you upon earth. ^ ^ 

As God has created all things for the common goocF 
ot all men, so let that part of them, which is fallen to 
your share, be employed, as God would have all em¬ 
ployed, for the common good of all. 

Do good, my son, first of all to those that most dc- 
serve it, but remember to do good to all. The o-reatest 
sinners receive daily instances of God’s goodness to¬ 
wards them, he nourishes and preserves them, that they 
may repent, and return to him ; do you therefore imitate 
God, and think no one too bad to receive your relief 
and kindness, when you see that he w ants it. 

I am teaching you Latin and Greek, not that you 
should desire to be a great critic, a fine poet, or an elo¬ 
quent orator; I would not have your heart feel any of 
those desires, for the desire of these accomplishments is 
a vanity of the mind, and the masters of them are gene¬ 
rally vain men. For the desire of any thing that is not 
a real good, lessens the application of the mind after that 
which is so. 

But I teach you these languages, that at proper times 
you may look into the history of past ages, and leam the 
methods of God’s providence over the world. That 
reading the writings of the ancient sages, you may see 
how wisdom and virtue have been the praise of great 
men of all ages, and fortify your mind by their wise 
sayings. 

Let truth and plainness therefore be the only orna¬ 
ment of your language, and study nothing but how to 
think of all things as they deserve, to choose every thing 
that is best, to live according to reason and order, and to 
act in every part of your life, in conformity to the will 
of God. 

Study how' to fill your heart full of the love of God, 
^md the love of your neighbour, and then be content to 
be no deeper a scholar, no finer a gentleman, than these 
tempers will make you. As true religion is nothing 
else but simple nature govenied by right reason, so it 
loves and requires great plainness and simplicity of life. 
Therefore avoid all superfluous shews of finery and equi¬ 
page, and let your house be plainly furnished with mod- 


248 


A SERIOI/S CALL TO A 


crate conveniencies. Do not consider what your estate 
can afibrd, but what right reason requires. 

Let your dress be sober, clean, and modest, not to set 
but the beauty of your person, but to declare the sobrie¬ 
ty of your mind, that your outward garb may resemble 
the inward plainness and simplicity of your heart. For 
it is highly reasonable, that you should be one man, all 
of a piece, and appear outwardly such as you are in¬ 
wardly. 

As to your meat and drink, in them observe the high¬ 
est rules of Christian temperance and sobriety ; consider 
your body only as the servant and minister of your soul ; 
and only so nourish it, as it may best perform an humble 
and obedient service to it. 

But, my son, observe this as a most principal thing, 
which I shall remember you of as long as I live with 
you. 

Hate and despise all human gloiy, for it is nothing 
else but human folly. It is the greatest snare and the 
greatest betrayer that you can possibly admit into your 
heart. 

Love humility in all its instances, practise it in all its 
parts, for it is the noblest state of the soul of man ; it 
will set your heart and affections right towards God, 
and fill you with every temper that is tender and affec¬ 
tionate towards men. 

Let every day therefore be a day of humility, condes¬ 
cend to all the weakness and infirmities of your fellow- 
creatures, cover their frailties, love their excellencies, 
encourage their virtues, relieve their wants, rejoice in 
their prosperities, compassionate their distress, receive 
their friendship, overlook their unkindness, forgive their 
malice, be a servant of servants, and condescend to do 
the lowest offices to the lowest of mankind. 

Aspire after nothing but your own purity and perfec¬ 
tion, and have no ambition but to do every thing in so 
reasonable and religious a manner, that you may be glad 
that God is every where present, and sees and observes all 
your actions. The greatest trial of humility, is an hum¬ 
ble behaviour towards your equals in age, estate, and 
condition of life. Therefore be careful of all the mo- 
tions of your heart towards these people : Let all yo'Ur 


DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 


249 


feehavioiir towards them be governed by unfeigned love. 
Have no desire to put any of your equals below you, 
nor any anger at those that would put themselves above 
you. If they are proud, they are ill of a very bad dis¬ 
temper, let them therefore have your tender pity, and 
perhaps your meekness may prove an occasion of their 
cure. But if your humility should do them no good, 
it will however be the greatest good that you can do to 
yourself 

Remember that there is but one man in the Morld, 
with whom you are to have perpetual contention, and 
be always striving to exceed him, and that is yourself. 

The time of practising these precepts, my child, will 
soon be over with you, the world will soon slip through 
your hands, or rather you will soon slip through it; it 
seems but the other day since I received these same in¬ 
structions from my dear father, that I am now leaving 
with you. And the God that gave me ears to hear, 
and a heart to receive what my father said unto me, will, 
I hope, give you grace to love and follow the same in¬ 
structions. 

Thus did Paternus educate his son. 

Can any one now think that such an education as this 
would weaken and deject the minds of young people, 
and deprive the world of any worthy and reasonable la¬ 
bours ? 

It is so far from that, that there is nothing so likely to 
ennoble and exalt the mind, and prepare it for the most 
heroic exercise of all virtues. 

For who will say, that a love of God, a desire of 
pleasing him, a love of our neighbour, a love of truth, of 
reason and viitue, a contemplation of eternity and the 
rewards of piety, are not stronger motives to great and 
good actions, than a little uncertain popular praise ? 

On the other hand, there is nothing in reality that 
more w'eakens the mind, and reduces it to meanness and 
slavery, nothing that makes it less master of its own ac¬ 
tions, or less capable of following reason, than a love of 
praise and honour. 

For as praise and honour are often given to things and 
persons, where they arc not due ; as that is generally 
most praised and honoured, that most gratifies the hu- 


A SERIOUS CALL TO A 


25Gr 

mours, fashions, and vicious tempers of the world ; so 
he that acts upon the desire oi praise and applause, must 
pait M ith every other piinciple ; he must say black is' 
white, put bitter for sweet, and sweet for bitter, and 
do the meanest, basest things, in order to be applaud* 
ed. 

For in a corrupt world, as this is, worthy actions are 
only to be supported by their own worth, where, instead 
of being praised and honoured, they are most often re* 
proached and persecuted. 

So that to educate children upon a motive of emula¬ 
tion, or a desire of glor)\ in a world where glory itself is 
false, and most commonly given wrong, is to destroy the 
natural integrity and fortitude of their minds, and give 
them a bias which will oftener carry them to base and 
mean, than great and worthy actions. 


CHAP. XIX. 

^he^iving- hoiv the method of educating daughters, 77iakes 
it difficult for them to enter into the epirit of Christian 
humility. Ho%o miserably they are injured and abused 
by such an education. The spirit of a better education 
represented in the character ^ Eusebia. 

THAT turn of mind which is taught and en¬ 
couraged in the education of daughters, makes it exceed¬ 
ing difficult for them to enter into such a sense and 
practice of humility, as the spirit of Christianity requi- 
Yeth. 

The right education of this sex is of the utmost impor¬ 
tance to human life. There is nothing that is more de¬ 
sirable for the common good of all the world. For though 
women do not carry on the trade and business of the 
world, yet as they are mothers, and mistresses of families, 
that have for some time the care of the education of their 
children of both sorts, they are entrusted with that which 
is of the greatest consequence to human life. For this 
reason, good or bad, women are likely to do as much 


DEVOUT AND HOLY LIF^ 


251 


good or harm in the world, as good or bad men in the 
greatest business of life. 

For as the health, and strength, or weakness of our 
bodies, is very much owing to their methods of treating 
us when we were young; so the soundness or folly of 
our minds are not less owing to those first tempers and 
ways of thinking which we eagerly received from tiie 
love, tenderness, authority, and constant conversation of 
our mothers. 

As we call our first language our mother-tongue, so 
we may as justly call our first tempers our mother tem¬ 
pers ; and perhaps it may be found more easy to forget 
Uie language, than to part entirely with those tempers 
which we learnt in the nursery. 

It is therefore much to be lamented, that this sex, on 
whom so much depends who have the first foimiing 
both of our bodies and our minds, are not only educated 
in pride, but in the silliest and most contemptible part of 
ft. 

They are not indeed suffered to dispute with us the 
proud prizes of arts and sciences, of learning and elo¬ 
quence, in which I have much suspicion they would of¬ 
ten "prove our superiors; but we turn them over to the 
study of beauty and dress, and the whole world conspires 
to make them think of nothing else. Fathers and mo¬ 
thers, friends and relations, seem to have no other wish 
towards the little girl, but that she may have a fair skin, 
a fine shape, dress well, and dance to admiration. 

Now if our fondness for our persons, a desire of beau-^ 
ty, a love of dress, be a part of pride (as surely it is a 
most contemptible part of it) the first step towards a 
woman’s humility, seems to require a repentance of hef 
education. 

For it must be owned, that, generally speaking, good 
parents are never more fond of their daughters, than 
when they see them too fond of themselves, and dressed 
in such a manner, as is a great reproach to the gravity 
and sobriety of the Christian life. 

And what makes this matter still more to be lamented, 
is this, that women are not only spoiled by this educa¬ 
tion, but we spoil that jpart Of the world whici> WOUI4 


2S2 A SERIOUS CALL TO A 

otherwise furnish most instances of an eminent and ex¬ 
alted piety. 

For I believe it may be affirmed, that for the most part 
there is a liner sense, a clearer mind, a readier appre¬ 
hension, and gentler dispositions in that sex, than in the 
other. 

All which tempers, if they were truly improved by 
proper studies, and sober methods of education, would 
in all probability carry them to greater heights of piety 
than are to be found amongst the generality of men. 

For this reason I speak to this matter with so*much 
openness and plainness, because it is much to be lament¬ 
ed, that persons so naturally qualified to be great exam¬ 
ples of piety, should, by an erroneous education, be made 
poor and gaudy spectacles of the greatest vanity. 

The church has formerly had eminent saints in that 
sex; and it may reasonably be thought, that it is purely 
owing to their poor and vain education, that this honour 
of their sex is for the most part confined to former 
ages. 

The corruption of the world indulges them in great 
vanity, and mankind seem to consider them in no olner * 
view, thp as so many painted idols, that are to allure 
and gratify their passions; so that if many women are 
vain, light, gewgaw creatures, they have this to excuse 
the.nselves, that they are not only such as their education 
has made them, but such as the generality of the world 
allows them to be. 

But then they should consider, that the friends to 
their vanity are no friends of theirs : they should consid¬ 
er, that they are to live for themselves, that they have as. 
great a share in the rational nature as men liave ; that 
they have as much reason to pretend, and as much ne¬ 
cessity to aspire after the highest accomplishments of a 
Christian and solid virtue, as the gravest and wisest 
amongst Christian philosophers. 

They should consider that they are abused and injured, 
and betrayed from their only perfection,.whenever they 
are taught, that any thing is an ornament in them, aiat 
is not an ornament in the wisest amongst mankind. 

It is generally said^ that women are naturally of little 
-and vain minds ; but this I look upon to be as false and 


T5EV0UT AND HOLY Lilt 

unreasonable, as to say, that butchers are naturally cruel* 
tor as their cruelty is not owing to their nature, but to 
their way of life, which has changed their nature ; so 
whatever littleness and vanity is to be observed in the 
minds of women, it is like the cruelty of butchers, a 
temper that is wrought into them by that life which thev 
are taught and accustomed to lead. 

At least thus much must be said, that we cannot 
charge any thing upon their nature, till we take care 
that it is not perverted by their education. 

And on the other hand, if it were true, that they were 
thus naturally vain and light, then how much more 
blameable is that education, which seems contrived to 
strengthen and increase this folly and weakness of their 
minds ? Tor if it were a virtue in a woman to be proud 
and vain in herself, we could hardly take better means 
fro raise this passion in her, than those that are now used 
in their education. 

Matilda is a fine woman, of good breeding, great sense 
and much religion. She has three daughters that are 
educated by herself. She will not trust them with anv 
one else, or at any school, for fear they should learn an\ 
thing ill. She stays with the dancing master all the time* 
he is with them, because she will hear every thing that 
is said to them. She has heard them read the scriptures 
so otten, that they can repeat great part of it without 
book : And there is scarce a good book of devotion, but 
you may find it in their closets. 

Had Matilda lived in the first ages of christianit), 
v/hen it was practised in tne fulness and plainness of its 
doctrines, slie nad in all probability been one of its 
greatest saints. Hut as siie was born in corrup; times^ 
where she wants examples of ciiristian perfection, and 
hardly ever saw a piety big icr than her own; so she 
has many defects, and coimnunicates them all to her 
daughters, 

^ Matildancvcrwas meanly dressed in herlife; andnotli- 
ing pleases her in dress, but that wnicn is very rich and 
beautiful to the eye. 

Her daughters sec her great zeal for religion, but then 
Ihey see an equal earnc itness tor all sorts of finery. 
Tney see she is not negligent of her devotion, but then 


A SERIOUS CALL TO A 


Sa4. 

they see her more careful to preserve her complexion^ 
and to prevent those changes, which time and age threa¬ 
ten her with. 

They are afraid to meet her, if they have missed the 
church ; but then they are more afraid to see her, if 
they are not laced as straight as they can possibly be. 

She often shews them her own picture, which was ta¬ 
ken when their father fell in love with her. Sne tells 
them, how distracted' he was with passion at the first 
sight of her, and that she had never had so fine a com¬ 
plexion, but for the diligence of her good mother, who 
took exceeding care of it. 

IVIatilda is so intent upon all the arts of improving 
their dress, that she has some new fancy almost every 
day, and leaves no ornament untried, from the richest 
jewel to the poorest flower. She is so nice and critical 
in her judgment, so sensible of the smallest error, that 
the maid is often forced to dress and undress her daugh¬ 
ters three or four times in a day, before she can be satis¬ 
fied with it. 

As to the patching, she reserves that to herself; for, 
she says, if they are not stuck on with judgment, they 
are rather a prejudice, than an advantage to the face. 

'Jlie children see so plainly the temper of their mother, 
that they even affect to be more pleased with dress, and 
to be more fond of eveiy little ornament, than they 
really are, merely to gain her favour. 

They saw their eldest sister once brought to her tears, 
and her perverseness severely reprimanded, for presum¬ 
ing to say, that she thought it was better to cover the 
neck, than to go so far naked as the modern dress re¬ 
quires. 

She stints them in their meals, and is very scrupulous 
of what they eat and drink, and tells them how many 
fine shapes she has seen spoiled in her time for want of 
such care; if a pimple rises in their faces, she is in a 
great fright, and they themselves are as afraid to see her 
with it, as if they had committed some great sin. 

Whenever they begin to look sanguine and healthful, 
she calls in the assistance of the doctor; and if physic, 
or issues, will keep the complexion from inclining to 
coarse or ruddy, she thinks them well employed. 


DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 


245.- 

By this means they arc poor, pale, sickly, infirm crea¬ 
tures, vapoured through want of spirits, crying at the 
smallest accidents, swooning away at any thing that 
frights them, and hardly able to bear the weight ol their 
best clothes. 

The eldest daughter lived as long as she could under 
this discipline, and died in the twentieth year of her 
age. ^ 

When the body w'as opened, it appeared that her ribs 
had grown into her liver, and that her other entrails w'ere 
much hurt by being crushed together with her stays, 
which her mother had ordered to be twitched so strait,' 
that it often brought tears into her eyes, whilst the maid 
was dressing her. 

Her youngest daughter is run away with a gamester, 
a man of great beauty, who in dressing and dancing has 
no superior. 

Matilda says, she should die with grief at this acci¬ 
dent, but that her conscience tells her, she has contribu¬ 
ted nothing to it herself. She appeals to their closets, 
to their books of devotion, to testify 'what care she has 
taken to establish her children in a life of solid piety and 
devotion. 

Now though I do not intend to say, that no daughters 
are brought up in a better way than this, for I hope there 
are many that are ; yet this rnuch 1 believe may be said, 
that the much greater part of them are not brought up 
so wel!,^ or accustomed to so much religion, as in the 
present instance. 

Their minds are turned as much to the care of their 
beauty and dress, and the indulgence of vain desires as 
in the present case, v/ithout having such rules of devotion 
to stand against it. So that if solid piety, humility, and 
a sober sense of themselves, is much wanted in that 
sex, it is the plain and natural consequence of a vain 
and corrupt education. 

And if they are often too ready to receive the first 
fops, beaux, and fine dancers, for their husbands; it is 
no wonder they should like that in men, wdfich they have 
been taught to admire in themselves. 

And if they are often seen to lose that little religion 
they were taught in their youth, it is no more to be 


SERIOUS CALL TO A 


15(5 

A\^ondered at, than to see a little flower choked and killed 
amongst rank weeds.. 

For personal pride, and alTectation, a delight in beaiitj-’j^ 
md fondness of finery, are tempers that must cither kill 
all religion in the soul, or be themselves killed by it 
they can no more thrive together, than health and sickr 
ness. 

Some people that judge hastily, will perhaps here 
say, that I am exercising too great a severity against^ 
the sex. 

But more reasonable persons will easily observe, that- 
I entirely spare the sex, and only arraign their educa¬ 
tion ; that I not only spare them, but plead their interest, 
assert their honour, set forth their perfections, commend 
their natural tempers, and only condemn that education, 
which is so injurious to their interests, so debases their 
honour, and deprives them of the benefit of their excel¬ 
lent natures and tempers. 

Their education, I profess, I cannot spare; but the 
only reason is, because it is their greatest enemy, because 
it deprives the world of so many blessings, and the church 
of so many saints, as might reasonably be expected from 
persons, so formed by their natural tempers to all good¬ 
ness and tendern.ess, and so fitted by the clearness and 
brightness of their minds, to contemplate, love and ad¬ 
mire every thing that is lioly, vii tuous and divine. 

If it sliould liere be said, that I even charge too high 
upon their education, and tiiat they are not so much hurt 
by it, as I imagine. 

It may be answered, that though I do net pretend to 
state the exact degree of mischief that is done by it, yet 
its plain and natural tendency to do harm, is sufficient 
to justify the most absolute condemnation of it. 

But if any one would know, how generally women 
are hurt by this education ; if he imagines there may 
be no personal jiriclc, or vain fondness of themselves, in 
those that are patched and dressed out with so mucli 
glitter of art and ornament. 

Let him only make the following experiment whcrc- 
ever he pleases. 

Let him only acquaint any such woman with his opin¬ 
ion of her; 1, dp, not, mean that he should tell her to 


BElYOt't Atb fiOLi LIF£. 


her face, or do it in any rude public manner ; but iet him 
contrive the niost civil, secret, friendly way that he can 
think of only to let her know' his opinion, that he thinks 
she is neither handsome, nor dresses w'ell, nor becomes 
her finery ; and I dare say, he wdll find there are but very 
few fine dressed women, that will like him never the 
w'orse for his bare opinion, though knowm to none but 
themselves ; and that he will not be long without seeing 
the effects of her resentment. 

But if such an experiment would sliew him that there 
are but few such women that could bear wdth his friend¬ 
ship, after they knew he had such an opinion of them, 
surely it is time to complain of, and accuse that educa ¬ 
tion, w'hich so generally corrupts their hearts. 

For though it is hard to judge of the hearts of people^ 
yet where they declare their resentment, and uneasiness 
at any thing, there they pass the judgment upon them¬ 
selves. If a w'oman cannot forgive a man w^o thinks she 
has no beauty, nor any ornament from her dress, there she 
infallibly discovers the state of her own heart, and is con¬ 
demned by her ow'ii, and not another’^s judgment. 

For vfe never are angry at others, hut when their 
opinions of us are contrary to that which w^e have of 
ourselves. 

A man that makes no pretence to scholarship, is never' 
angry at those that do not take him to be a scholar : so 
if a w'oman had no opinion of her owm person and dress,- 
she would never be angry at those, who are of the same 
opinion with herself. 

So that the general bad effects of this educatfon are 
too much known, to admit of any reasonable doubt. 

But how possible is it to bring up daughters in a more 
excellent way, let the following character declare. 

Eusebia is a pious widow, well born, and well bred, and 
has a good estate for five daughters, whom she brings ur> 
as one intrusted by God, to fit five virgins for the king^- 
dom of heaven. Her family has the same regulation as 
a rel' gious house, and all its orders tend to the support of 
a constant regular devotion. 

She, her daughters,and her maids, meet together at all 
the hours of prayer in the day, and chant psalms and 
other devotions, and spend the rest of their time in such 
X 2 


25 S 


A S^lUOiCS CXLt :t 

,u;ood works, and innocent diversions, as render them fiV 
to return to their psalms and prayers. 

She loves them as her spiritual children, and they 
reverence her as their spiritual mother, with an affec¬ 
tion far above that of the fondest friends. 

She has divided part of her estate amongst them, that 
every one may be charitable out of their own stock, and 
each of them take it in their turns to provide for the 
poor and sick of the parish. 

Eusebia brings them up to all kinds of labour that are 
proper for women, as sewing, knitting, spinning, and all 
other parts of housewifery ; not for their amusement, but 
that they may be serviceable tothemselves and others, and 
be saved from those temptations which attend an idle life. 

She tells them, she had rather sec them reduced to* 
the necessity of maintaining themselves by their own 
work, than to have riches to excuse themselves from 
labour. For though, says she, you may be able to assist 
the poor without your labour, yet by your labour you 
will be able to assist them more. 

If Eusebia has lived as free from sin as it is possible 
for human nature, it is because she is always watching' 
and guarding against all instances of pride. And if her 
virtues are stronger and higher than other peoples, it is 
because they are all founded in a deep humility. 

My children, says she. When your fatlier died, I was 
much pitied by my friends, as having all the care of a 
family, and the management of an estate fallen upon me. 

But my own grief was founded upon another principle ; 
Iwas grieved to seemyself deprivedof so faithful a friend, 
and that such an eminent example of Christian virtues^ 
should be taken from the eyes of his children before they 
were of an age to love and follow it. 

But as to worldly cares, which my friends thought so 
heavy upon me, they are most of them of our own 
making, and fall away as soon as we know ourselves. 

If a person in a dream is disturbed with strange ap¬ 
pearances, his trouble is over as soon as he is awake and 
spes that it was the folly of a dream. 

Now when a right knowledge of ourselves enters into 
oitfmWs, it makes ds great a change in all our thoughts- 


DEVOtT A\D HOLY LIFf:. 25^ 

and apprehensions, as Avhen we awake from the wander^ 
ings of a dream. 

We acknowledge a man to be mad or melanchoir, 
t^;ho fancies l.imsdf to he glass, and so fs afraid of stir’ 
ring ; or taking himself to be wax, dare not let the 
shine upon him. 

But, my children, there are tilings in the world which 
pass tor wisdom, politeness, granc!eur,happiness, and fine 
breeding, which shew as great ignorance of ourselves, and 
might as justly pass for thorough madness, as when a 
man tancies hrmself to be glass, or ice, 

A w'oman that dares rot appear in the world without 
hne clothes, that thinks it a happiness to have a face 
finely coloured, to have a skin delicately fair, that had 
rather die than be reduced to poverty and be forced to 
work for a poor maintenance, is as ignorant of herself 
to the full, as he that fancies himself to be glass. 

For this reason, all my discourse with you has been to- 
acquaint you with yourselves, and to accustom you to 
such books and devotions, as may best instruct you in 
this greatest of all knowledge. 

\oit would think it hard, not to know the family into 
which you was born, what ancestors von were descended 
froni, and what estate was t© come to you. But, my 
chilcii en, you may know all this with exactness, and yet 
be as ignorant of yoprselvcs, as he that takes himself to¬ 
ne w'ax. 

For though you were all of you born of my body, and 
bear your lather’s name, yet you are all of you pure 
spirits. I do not mean that you have net bodies that 
want meat and drink, and sleep, and clothing, but that 
all. that deserves to be called you, is nothing else but 
spirit. A being spiritual and rational in its nature, that 
is as contrary to all fleshly or corporeal beings, as life 
is contrary to death j that is made in the image of God 
to live for ever, never to cease any more, but to enjoy 
life, and reason, and knowledge, and happiness in the 
presence of God, and the society of angels, and glorious 
spirits, to all eternity. 

Every thing that you call yours, besides this spirit, is 
but like your clothing; something that is only to be 
tiscd for a while, and then to end, and die, and wea^' 


260 


A SERIOUS CALL TO A 


away, and to sig-nify no more to you, than the clothing' 
and bodies of other people. 

But, my children, you are not only in this manner 
spirits, but you are fallen spirits, that began your life in 
a state of corruption and disorder, full of tempers and 
passions, that blind and darken the reason of your mind 
and incline you to that which is hurtful. 

Your bodies are not only poor and perishing like your 
clothes, but they arc like infected clothes, that fill you 
with all diseases and distempers, which oppress the soul, 
with sickly appetites and vain cravings. 

So that all of us are like two beings, that have, as it 
were, two hearts within us; with the one we see, and' 
taste, and admire reason, purity and holiness: with the 
other we incline to pride, and vanity, and sensual de¬ 
lights. 

This internal war we always feel v.ithin us miore or 
less ; and if you would know the one thing necessary to 
all the world, it is this; to preserve and perfect all that 
is rational, holy and divine in our nature, and to morti¬ 
fy, remove and destroy all that vanity, pride, and sensu¬ 
ality, which springs from the corruption of our state ? 

Could you think, my children, when you look at the 
world, and see what customs, and fashions, and pleasures, 
and troubles, and projects, and tempers, employ the 
hearts and time of mankind, that things were thus, as I 
have told you ? 

But do not you be affected at these things, the world 
is in a great dream, and but few people are awake 
in it. 

We fancy that we fall into darknesss, wdien we die j 
but alas, we are most of us in the dark till then ; and 
the eyes of our souls only then begin to see, when our 
bodily eyes are closing. 

You see then your state, my children ; you arc to hon¬ 
our, improve, and perfect the spirit that is within you, 
you are to prepare it for the kingdom of heaven, to nour¬ 
ish it with the love of God, and of virtue, to adorn it 
with good works, and to make it as holy and heavenly 
as you can. You are to preserve it from the errors and 
vanities of the world ; to save it from the corruptions o£ 


DETOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 


261 


ihe hotly from those false delights, and sensual tempers, 
which the body tempts it with. 

You are to nourish your spirits with pious readings^ 
and holy meditations, with watchings, fastings, and 
prayers, that you may taste, and relish, and desire 
that eternal state, which is to begin when this life 
ends. 

As to your bodies, you are to consider them as poor, 
pcM’ishing things, that are sickly and corrupt at present^ 
and will soon drop into common dust. You are to watch 
over them as enemies, that are always trying to tempt 
and betray you, and so never follow their advice and 
counsel ; you are to consider them as the place and ha¬ 
bitation of your souls, and so keep them pure, and clean,, 
and decent; you are to consider them as the servants and 
instruments of action, and so give them food, and rest, 
and raiment, that they may be strong and healthful to do 
the duties of a charitable, useful, pious life. 

Whilst you live thus, you live like yourselves ; and 
whenever you have less regard to your souls, or more 
regard to your bodies, than this comes to ; whenever 
you are more intent upon adorning your persons, than 
upon perfecting of your souls, you are much more be¬ 
side yourselves, than he, that had rather have a laced 
coat, than an healthful body. 

For this reason, my children, I have taught you noth¬ 
ing that was dangerous for you to learn : I have kept 
you from every thing that might betray you into weak¬ 
ness and folly ; or make you think any thing fine, but 
a fine mind ; any thing happy but the favour of God ; 
or any thing desirable, but to do all the good you possi¬ 
bly can. 

Instead of the vain, immodest entertainment of plays 
and operas, I have taught you to delight in visiting the 
sick and poor. What music, and dancing, and diver¬ 
sions are to many in the world, that prayers and devotions, 
and psalms are to you. Your h.ands have not been em¬ 
ployed in plaiting the hair, and adorning your persons ; 
but in making clothes forthe naked. You have not wasted 
your fortunes upon yourselves, but have added your la¬ 
bour to them, to do more good to other people. 

Instead of forced shapes, patched faces, genteel airs, 


'262 


A SERIOUS CALL TO A 


and affected motions, I have taught you to conceal yous 
bodies with modest garments, and let the world have 
nothing to view of you, but the plainness and sincerity, 
and humility of all your behaviour. 

You know, my children, the high perfection, and the 
great rewards of virginity ; you know how it frees from 
worldly cares and troubles, and furnishes means and op¬ 
portunities of higher advancement in a divine life; there¬ 
fore love and esteem, and honour virginity ; bless God 
for ail that glorious company of hoiy'virgms, that from 
the beginning of Christianity, have, in the several ages 
of the church, renounced the cares and pleasures of ma- 
Iriniony, to be perpetual examples of solitude, contem¬ 
plation, and prayer 

But as every one has their proper gift from God, as. 
I look upon you ail to be so many great blessings of a 
married state ; so I leave it to your choice, either to do 
as I have done, or to aspire after higher degrees of per¬ 
fection in a virgin state of life. 

I desire nothing, I press nothing upon you, but to 
make the most of Jiuman life, and to aspire after perfec¬ 
tion in whatever state of life you choose. 

Never therefore consider yourselves as persons thab 
are to be seen, admired, and courted by men ; but as 
pool siniiers, that are to save yourselves from the vani¬ 
ties and follies of a miserable woikl, by humiliiy, devo¬ 
tion, and self-denial. Learn to live for your own sakes, 
and the service ol God ; and let notning in the world 
be of any value with you, but that which you can turn 
into a service to God, and a means of your future han- 
piness. 

Consider often how powerfully you are called to a vir¬ 
tuous life, and wh.at great and glorious things God has 
done for you, to make you in love with every thing that 
can promote his glory. 

Think upon the vanity and shortness of human life, 
and let death and eternity be often in your minds : for 
these thoughts will strengthen and exalt your minds, 
make you wise and judicious, and truly sensible of the 
littleness of human things. 

Think of the happiness of prophets and apostles, 
saints and martyrs, who are now rejoicing in the pres- 


DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 


^63 


ence of God, and see themselves possessed of eternal 
glory. And then think how desirable a thing it is, to 
watch and pray, and do good as they did, that when you 
die you may have your lot amongst them. 

Whether married therefore or unmarried, consider 
yourselves as mothers and sisters, as friends and relations 
1 io all that want your assistance ; and never allow your¬ 
selves to be idle, whilst others are in want of any thing 
that your hands can make for them. 

■Fhis useful, charitable, humble employment of your¬ 
selves, is what I recommend to you with great earnest¬ 
ness, as being a substantial part of a wise and pious life. 
And besides the good you will thereby do to otner peo¬ 
ple, every virtue of your own heart will be very much 
improved by it. 

h or next to reading, meditation, and prayer, there 
is nothing that so secures our heartsfrom foolish passions, 
nothing that preserves so holy and wise a frame of mind, 
as some useful, humble employment of ourselves. 

Never therefore consider your labour as an amuse¬ 
ment, that is to get rid of your time, and so may be as 
trifling as you please ; but consider it as something that 
is to be serviceable to yourselves and others, that is to 
serve some sober ends of life, to save and redeem your 
time, and make it turn to your account, when the works 
of all people shall be tried by fire. 

When you were little, I left you to little amuse¬ 
ments, to please yourselves in any things that were 
free from harm ; but as you are now grown up to a 
knowledge of God, and yourselves; as your minds are 
now acquainted with the worth and value of virtue, and 
exalted with the great doctrines of religion, you are 
now to do nothing as children, but despise every thing 
that is poor, or vain, and impertinent; you are now 
to make the labours of your hands suitable to the 
piety of your hearts, and employ yourselves for the 
same ends, and with the same spirit, as you watch and 
pray. 

For if there is any good to be done by your labour, 
if you can possibly employ yourselves usefuily to other 
people jhow silly is it, how contrary to the wisdom of 


264 


A SERIOUS CALL TO A 


religion, to make that a mere amusement, which might 
as easily be made an exercise of the greatest charity ? 

What would you think of the wisdom of him, that 
should employ his time in distilling of waters,and making 
li(]Uors which nobody could use, merely to amuse himself 
with the variety of their colours and clearness, when, 
with less labour and expense, he might satisfy the wants 
of those that have nothing to drink. 

Yet he would be as wisely employed, as those that 
are amusing themselves with such tedious works as they 
neither need, nor hardly know how to use them when they 
are finished ; when with less labour and expense they 
might be doing as much good, as he that is clothing the 
naked, or visiting the sick. 

Be glad therefore to know the wants of the poorest 
people, and let your hands be employed in making such 
mean and ordinary things for them, as their necessities 
require. By thus making your labour a gift and service 
to the poor, your ordinary work will be changed into a 
holy service, and made as acceptable to God, as your 
devotions. 

And as charity is the greatest of all virtues, as it 
always was tne chief temper of the greatest saints; so 
notliing can make your own cnarity more amiable in the 
signt of God, tnan this method of adding your labour 
to it. 

The humility also of this employment will be as ben¬ 
eficial to you, as the charity of it. It will keep you 
from ail vain and proud thoughts of your own state and 
distinction in life, and from treating the poor as creatures 
of a different species. By accustoming yourselves to tnis 
labour and service to the poor, as the representatives of 
Jesus Christ, you will soon find your heart softened into 
the greatest meekness and lowliness towards them. You 
will reverence tneir estate and condition, think it an 
honour to serve them, and never be so pleased with your¬ 
self, as when you are most humbly employed in their 
service. 

This will make you true disciples of your meek Lord 
and Master, who came into the %vorld not to be ministered 
unto, but to nnnister; and thougn he was Lord of all; and 


DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 


265’ 


amongst the creatures of his own making, yet was 
amongst them, as one that serveth. 

Christianity has then had its most glorious effects up¬ 
on your hearts, when it has thus changed your spirit, 
removed all the pride of life from you, and made you 
delight in humbling yourselves beneath the lowest of all 
your fellow-creatures. 

Live therefore, my children, as you have begun your 
lives in humble labour for the good of others; and let 
ceremonious visits, and vain acquaintances, have as lit¬ 
tle of your time as you possibly can. Contract no fool¬ 
ish friendships, or vain fondnesses for particular per¬ 
sons ; but love them most, that most turn your love to¬ 
wards God, and your compassion towards all the world. 

But above all, avoid the conversation of fine-bred fops 
and beaux, and hate nothing more than the idle dis¬ 
course, the flattery and compliments of that sort of men; 
for they are the shame of their own sex, and ought to 
be the abhorrence of yours. 

When you go abroad, let humility, modesty, and a 
decent carriage, be all the state that you take upon you ; 
and let tenderness, compassion, and good nature, be ail 
the fine breeding that you shew in any place. 

If evil speaking, scandal, or backbiting, be the con¬ 
versation where you happen to be, keep your heart and 
your tongue to yourself; be as much grieved, as if yon 
was amongst cursing and swearing, and retire as soon 
as you can. 

Though you intend to marry, yet let the time never 
come till you find a man that has those perfections, 
which you have been labouring after yourselves; who 
is likely to be a friend to all your virtues, and with whom 
it is better to live, than to want the benefit of his exam¬ 
ple. 

Love poverty, and reverence poor people; as for 
many reasons, so particularly for this, because our bles¬ 
sed Saviour was one of the number, and because you 
may make them all so many friends and advocates with 
God for you. 

Visit and converse with them frequently; you will 
often find simplicity, innocence, patience, fortitude, and 
Y 


266 


A SERIOUS CALL TO A 


great piety amongst them; and where they are not so» 
your good example may amend them. 

Rejoice at every opportunity of doing an humble 
action, and exercising the meekness of your minds; 
whether it be, as the scripture expresses it, in washing 
the saints* feet, that is, in waiting upon, and serving 
those that are below you; or in bearing with the 
haughtiness and ill manners of those that are your 
equals, or above you. For there is nothing better than 
humility; it is the fruitful soil of all virtues; and every 
thing that is kind and good, naturally grows from 
it. 

Therefore, my children, pray for, and practice humili¬ 
ty, and reject every thing in dress, or carriage, or con¬ 
versation, that has any appearance of pride. 

Strive to do every thing that is praiseworthy, but do 
nothing in order to be praised ; nor think of any reward 
for all your labours of love and virtue, till Christ com- 
eth with all his holy angels. 

And above all, my children, have a care of vain and 
proud thoughts of your own virtues. For as soon as 
ever people live different from the common way of the 
world, and despise its vanities, the devil represents to 
^eir minds the heights of their own perfections ; and is 
nontent they should excel in good works, provided that 
he can but make them proud of them. 

Therefore watch over your virtues with a jealous 
eye, and reject every vain thought, as you would reject 
the most wicked imaginations ; and think what a 
loss it would be to you, to have the fruit of all your 
good works, devoured by the vanity of your own 
minds. 

Never, therefore, allow yourselves to despise those 
who do not follow your rules of life; but force your 
hearts to love them, and pray to God for tnem; and 
let humility be always whispering it into your ears, that 
you yourselves will fall from those rules to-morrow, 
if God should leave you to your own strength and wis¬ 
dom. 

When therefore you have spent days and weeks well, 
do not suffer your hearts to contemplate any thing as 
your own, but give all the glory to the goodness of 


DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 


God, who has carried you through such rules of holy 
living, as you were not able to observe by your own 
strength ; and take care to begin the next day, not as 
proficients in virtue, that can do great matters, but as 
poor beginners, that want the daily assistance of God to 
save you from the grossest sins. 

Your dear father was an humble, watchful, pious, wise 
man. Whilst his sickness would suffer him to talk 
with me, his discourse was chiefly about your educa*? 
tion. He knew the benefits of humility, he saw th& 
ruins which pride made in our sex; and therefore he 
conjured me with the tenderest expressions, to renounce 
the fashionable way of educating daughters in pride and 
softness, in the care of their beauty and dress ; and to 
bring you all up in the plainest, simplest instances of 
an humble, holy, and industrious life. 

He taught me an admirable rule of humility, which 
he practised all the days of his life ; which was this ; to 
let no morning pass, without thinking upon some frailty 
and infirmity of our own, that may put us to confusion, 
make us biush inwardly, and entertain a mean opinion 
of ourselves. 

Think therefore, my children, that the soul of your 
good father, who is now with God, speaks to you through 
my mouth; anti let the double desire of your father, who 
is gone, and J, who am with you, prevail upon you to 
love God, to study your own perfection, to practise hu- 
miiitv, and with innocent labour and charity, to do all 
the good that you can to ail your fellow'-creatures till 
God calls yt u to another life. 

Thus did tiie pious widow educate her daughters. 

The spirit of this education speaks so plainly for it¬ 
self, that, I hope, I need say nothing in its justification. 
If we could see it in life, as well as read ot it in books, 
the w orld would soon find the happy effects of it. ^ 

A daughter thus educated, would be a blessing to 
any family that she came into ; a fit companion for a 
wise man, and m.ake him happy in the government of 
his family, and the education of his^ children. 

And she that either was not inclined, or could not 
dispose of herself well in marriage, w^ould know how *€\ 
live to great and excellent ends in a state of virginity. 


A SERIOUS call TO A 


m 

A very ordinary knowledge of the spirit of Christianity 
seems to be enough to convince us, that no education 
ean be of true advantage to young women, but that 
which trains them up in humble industry, in great plain¬ 
ness of life, in exact modesty of dress, manners, and car¬ 
riage, and in strict devotion. For what should a Chris¬ 
tian woman be but a plain, unaffected, modest, humble 
creature, averse to every thing in her dress and carriage, 
{hat can draw the eyes of beholders, or gratify the pas¬ 
sions of lewd and amorous persons ? 

How great a stranger must he be to the gospel, who 
does not know that it requires this to be the spirit of a 
pious woman ? 

Our blessed Saviour saith, whosoever looketh ufion a 
woman to lust after her^ hath already committed adultery 
with her in his heart. St. Matt. v. 28 . 

Need an education which turns women’s minds to the 
arts and ornaments of dress and beauty, be more strongly 
condemned, than by these words ? For surely, if the 
eye is so easily and dangerously betrayed, every art and 
ornament is sufficiently condemned, that naturally tends 
to betray it. 

And how can a woman of piety more justly abhor and 
avoid any thing, than that which makes her person more 
a snare and temptation to other people ? If lust and wan¬ 
ton eyes are the death of the soul, can any women think 
themselves innocent, who with naked breasts, patched 
faces, and every ornament of dress, invite the eye to 
offend r 

And as there is no pretence for innocence in such a 
behaviour, so neither can they tell how to set any bounds 
to their guilt. For as they can never know how much, 
or how often they have occasioned sin in other people, 
so they can never know how much guilt will be placed 
to their own account. 

^ 1 his one would think should sufficiently deter every 
pious woman from every thing that might render her 
the occasion of loose passions in other people. 

St. Paul,speaking ofathing entirely innocent, reasons 
after this manner : But take heed, lest by any means this 
liberty of yours becomia stumbling-block to those that arc 
weak.—And through thy knowledge thy weak brother per-* 


BEYOtir HOLY LIFE 


269 


i sh.^for nvhom Christ died. But whenye sin so against the 
brethren., and wound their weak conscience., ye sin against 
Christ. Wherefore., if meat make my brethren to offend, 
J will eat no flesh while the world standeth, lest 1 make 
my brethren to offend, 1 Cor. viii. 9 ,- — 13 . 

Now if this is the spirit of Christianity ; if it requires 
us to abstain from things thus lawful, innocent, and use¬ 
ful, when tnere is any danger of betraying our weak 
brethren into an error thereby : surely it cannot be rec¬ 
koned too nice or needless a point of conscience, for 
women to avoid such things, as are neither innocent nor 
useful, but naturally tend to corrupt their own hearts, 
and raise ill passions in other people. 

Surely every woman of Christian piety ought to say, 
in the spirit of the apostle, if patching and paint, or any 
vain adorning of my person, be a natural n>eans of mak¬ 
ing weak, unwary eyes to offend, I will renounce all 
these arts as long as I live, lest I should make my fellow 
creatures to offend. 

I shall now leave this subject of humility ; having said 
enough, as I hope, to recommend the necessity of making^ 
it the constant, chief subject of your devotion at this 
hour of prayer. . 

I have considered the nature and necessity of humility, 
and its great importance to a religious life. I have shewn 
you how many difficulties are formed against it from our 
natural tempers, the spirit of the w'orld, and tlie common 
education of both sexes. 

These considerations will, I hope, instruct you how 
to form your prayers for it to the best advantage; and 
teach you the necessity of letting no day pass, without a 
serious earnest application to God, for the whole spirit of 
humility. Fervently beseeching him to fill every part 
of your soul with it, to make it the ruling, constant 
habit of your mind, that you may not only feel it, but 
feel all your other tempers arising from it; that you may 
have no thoughts, no desires, no designs, but such as are 
the true fruits of an humble, meek, and lowly heart. 

That you may always appear poor, and little, and 
mean in your own eyes, and fully content that others 
should have the same opinion of you. 

That the whole course of your life, your expense, your 

Y9. 


m 


A SERIOUS CALL TO A 


house, your dress, your manner of eating, drinking. Coni' 
versing, and doing every thing, may be so many contin¬ 
ual proofs of the true unfeigned humility of your heart. 

That you may look for nothing, claim nothing, resent 
nothing; that you may go through all the actions and 
accidents of life calmly and quietly, as in the presence 
of God, looking wholly unto him, acting wholly for him ; 
neither seeking vain applause, nor resenting neglects, or 
affronts, but doing and receiving every thing in the meek 
and lowly spirit of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ, 


CHAP. XX. 

Hctomviending devotionattwelveclocks calledin Scrip.^ 
ture the sixth hour of the day. This frequency of de~ 
votion equally desirable by all or ders of people, Univer¬ 
sal love is here recommended to be the subject of prayer 
at this hour. Of intercession^as an act of universal love. 

IT will perhaps be thought by some people, that 
these hours of prayer come too thick ; that they can^ 
only be observed by people of great leisure, and ought 
not to be pressed upon the generality of men, who have 
the cares of families, trades and employments; nor upon 
the gentry, whose state and figure in the world cannot 
admit of this frequency of devotion. And that it is only 
fit for monasteries and nunneries, or such people as have 
no more to do in the world than they have. 

To this it is answered. 

First, That this method of devotion is not pressed 
upon any sort of people, as absolutely necessary, but re¬ 
commended to all people, as the best, the happiest and 
most perfect way of life. 

And if a great and exemplary devotion is as much the 
greatest happiness and perfection of a merchant, a soldier, 
or a man of quality, as it is the greatest happiness, and 
perfection of the most retired contemplative life, then it 
is as proper to recommend it without any abatements to 
one order of men as to another. Because happiness and 
perfection are of the same worth and value to all people. 
The gentleman and tradesman may, and must spend 


BHVOtJT AND HOLY LIFE* 


much of their lime diiferently from the pious mcnk in 
the cloister, or the contemplative hermit in the desert: 
but then, as the monk and hermit lose the ends of re¬ 
tirement, unless they make it all serviceable to devotion j 
so the gentleman and merchant fail of the greatest ends 
of a social life, and live to their loss in the world, unless 
devotion be their chief and governing temper. 

It is certainly very honest and creditable for people to 
engage in trade and employments; it is reasonable for 
gentlemen to manage well their estates and families, and 
such recreations as are proper to their state. But tlien 
every gentleman and tradesman loses the greatest happi¬ 
ness of his creation, is robbed of something that is great¬ 
er than all employments, distinctions and pleasures of 
the world, if he does not live more to piety and devotion, 
than to any thing else in the world. 

Here are therefore no excuses made for men of busi¬ 
ness and figure in the world. I'irst, because it would 
be to excuse them from that which is the greatest end 
of living; and be only finding so many reasons for makirg 
them less beneficial to themselves, and less serviceable 
to God and the world. 

Secondly, because most men of business and figure 
engage too far in worldly matters ; much farther than 
the reasons of human life, or the necessities of the world' 
require. 

Merchants and tradesmen, for instance, are generally 
ten times farther engaged in business than tiiey need ; 
w hich is so far from being a reasonable excuse for their 
want of time for devotion, that it is their crime, and 
must be censured as a blameable instance of covetous¬ 
ness and ambition. 

The gentry, and people of figure, either give them¬ 
selves up to state employments, or to the gratifications 
of their passions in a life of gaiety and debaucl.ery ; and 
if these things might be admitted as allowable avoca¬ 
tions from devotion, devotion must be reckoned a poor 
circumstance of life. 

Unless gentlemen can shew that they have another 
God, than the father of our Lord Jesus Chiist; another 
nature, than that which is derived fron- Adam ; another 
reiigion, than the Christian^ it is in vain to plead tlieir 


A SERIOUS CALL TO A 


state, and dignity, and pleasures, as reasons for not pre¬ 
paring their souls for God, by a strict and regular devo¬ 
tion. 

For since piety and devotion are the common un¬ 
changeable means of saving all the souls in the world 
that shall be saved, there is nothing left for the gentle¬ 
man, the soldier, and the tradesman, but to take care 
that their several states be, by care and watchfulness, 
by meditation and prayer, made states of an exact and 
solid piety. 

If a merchant having forbore from too great business, 
that he might quietly attend on the service of God, 
should therefore die worth twenty, instead of fifty thou¬ 
sand pounds, could any one say that he had mistaken 
his callings or gone a loser out of the world I 

If a gentleman should have killed fewer foxes, been 
less frequent at balls, gaming, and merry meetings, be¬ 
cause stated parts of his time had been given to retire¬ 
ment, to meditation and devotion, could it be thought, 
that when lie left the world, he would regret the loss of 
those hours that he had given to the care and improve¬ 
ment of his soul ? 

If a tradesman,.by aspiring after Christian perfection, 
and retiring himself often from his business, should in¬ 
stead of leaving his children fortunes to spend in luxury 
and idleness, leave them to live by their own honest la¬ 
bour ; could it be said, that he had made a wrong use of 
the world, because he had shewn his children, that he 
had more regard to that which is eternal, than to this 
which is so soon to be at an end. . 

Since therefore devotion is not only the best and most 
desirable practice in a cloister, but the best and most 
desirable practice of men, as men, and in every state of 
life, they that desire to be excused from it because they 
are men of figure, and estates, and business, are no wiser 
than those that should desire to be excused from health 
and happiness, because they were men of figure and 
estates. 

I cannot see why every gentleman, merchant, or sol¬ 
dier, should not put these questions seriously to himself; 

“ What is the best thing for me to intend and drive at 
in all my actions I How shall I do to make the most of 


ITEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 


275- 


human life ? What ways shall I wish that I had taken, 
when I am leaving the world ?*’ 

Now to be thus wise, and to make thus much use of 
our reason, seems to be but a small and necessary piece 
of wisdom. For how can we pretend to sense and 
judgment, if we dare not seriously consider, and answer, 
and govern our lives by that which such questions re¬ 
quire of us ? 

Shall a nobleman think his birth too high a dignity to 
condescend to such questions as these ? Or a trades¬ 
man think his business too great, to take any care about 
himself ? 

Now here is desired no more devotion in any one's 
life, than the answering these few questions require. 

^ Any devotion that is not to the greater advantage of 
him that uses it, than any thing that he can do in the 
room of it; any devotion that does not procure an infi¬ 
nitely greater good, than can be got by neglecting it, is 
freely yielded up, here is no demand of it. 

But if people will live in so much ignorance, as never 
to put these questions to themselves, but push on a 
blind life at all chances, in quest of they do not know 
what or why ; without ever considering the worth or 
value, or tendency of their actions; without cemsidering 
what God, reason and eternity, and their own happiness 
require of them ; it is for the honour of devotion that 
none can neglect it, but those who are thus inconsider- 
atC;, who dare not inquire after that which is the best, 
and most worthy of their choice. 

Itis true, Claudius, you are a man of figure and estate, 
and are to act the part of such a station of human life ; 
you are not called, as Elijah was, to be a prophet or as 
St. Paul, to be an apostle. 

But will you therefore not love yourself? Will you 
not seek and study your own happiness, because you 
are not called to preach up the same things to other 
people ? 

You would think it very absurd, for a man not to 
value his own health, because he was not a pl.ysician; or 
the preservation of his limbs, because he was not a bone 
setter. Yet it is more absurd for you, Claudius>to ne*- 


A SERIOUS CALL TO X 


-2f4 


gleet the improvement of your soul in piety, because yoU 
5 ire not an apostle, or a bishop. 

Consider this text ofscripture, if ye live after the fleshy 
ye shall die ; butif through the sfiirit ye do mortify the 
deeds of the hody^ ye shall live. For as many as are 
led by the spirit of Gody they are the sons of God. Rom. 
Tiii. 13, 14. Do you think that this scripture does not 
equally relate to all mankind ? Can you find any excep¬ 
tion here for men of figure and estate ? Is not a spiritual 
and devout life here made the common condition, on 
which all men are to become sons of God ? Will you 
leave hours of prayer, and rules of devotion, to particu¬ 
lar states of life, when nothing but the same spirit of de¬ 
votion can save you, or any man, from eternal death ? 

Consider again this text: For ‘ive must all appear 
before the judgment-seat of Ch'ist^ that every one may 
receive the things done in his bodyaccording to that he 
hath done., %vhether it be good or bad. 2 Cor. v. 10. Now 
if your estate would excuse you from appearing before 
this judgment-seat: if your figure could protect you 
from receiving according to your works, there would be 
some pretence for your leaving devotion to other peo¬ 
ple. But if you who are now thus distinguished, must 
then appear naked amongst common souls, without any 
other distinction from others, but such as your virtues 
or sins give you ; does it not as much concern you, as 
any prophet, or apostle, to make the best provision for 
the best rewards at that great day ? 

Again, consider this great doctrine of the apostle : 
For 7ione of us, that is, of us Christians, liveth to him¬ 
self: For nohethtr %i>e live^ ‘ive live unto the Lord ; and 
wh'^'lier u't die ; v^e die unto the Lord. For to this end 
Chnst both died, and rose and revived, that he might 
be Lord both of the dead and the living. 

Now are you, Claudius, excepted out of the doctrine 
of this text ? Will you, because of your condition, leave 
it to any particular sort of people, to live and die unto 
Chrjst ? If so, you must leave it to them, to be redeem¬ 
ed by the death and resurrection of Christ. For it is 
the express doctrine of the text, that for this end Christ 
died and rose again, that none of us should live to him¬ 
self, It is not that priests, or apostles, monks, or her- 


DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 


m 

should live no longer to themselves ; but that none 
of us, that is no Christian, of what state soever, should 
live unto himself. 

If therefore there be any instances of piety, any rules 
of devotion, which you can neglect and live as truly 
unto Christ, as if you observed them, this text calls you 
to no such devotion. But if you forsake such devotion, 
as you yourself know is expected from some particular 
sorts of people ; such devotion as you know becomes 
people that live wholly unto Christ, that aspire after 
great piety; if you neglect such devotion for any 
worldly consideration, that you may live more to your 
own temper and taste, more to the fashions and ways of 
the world, you forsake the terms on which all Christians 
are to receive the benefit of Christ’s death and resurrec¬ 
tion. 

Observe farther, how the same doctrine is taught by 
St. Peter; he ’which hath called you in holy^ so be 
ye holy in all manner of conversation. 1 Pet. i. 15. 

If therefore, Claudius, you are one of those that‘are 
here called, you sec what it is that you are called to. 
It is not to have so much religion as suits with your 
temper, your business, or your pleasures ; it is not to a 
particular sort of piety, that may be sufficient for gen¬ 
tlemen of figure and estates; but it is first, to be holy, 
as he which hath called you is holy; secondly, it is to 
be thus holy in all manner of conversation; that is, to 
carry this spirit and degree of holiness into every part, 
and through the whole form of your life. 

And the reason the apostle immediately gives, why 
this spirit of holiness must be the common spirit of 
Christians, as such, is very affecting, and such as equal¬ 
ly calls upon all sorts of Christians. Forasmuch as ye 
kno’tu^ says he, that ye ’were not redeemed ’with corrufiti- 
ble things, as silver and gold, fro7n your vain conversa- 
tion—but 'with the firecious blood of Christ, 8cc. 

As if he had said, forasmuch as ye know ye were 
made capable of this state of ho'iiiess, entered into a so¬ 
ciety with Christ, and made heirs of his glory, not by 
any human means, but by stich a mysteri us instance of 
love, as infinitely exceeds every thing that can be 
thought of in this world; since God has redeemed you 


2r6 


A SERIOUS CALL TO A 


to himself, and your own happiness, at so greatapric^ 
how base and shameful must it be, if you do not hence^ 
forth devote yourselves wholly to the glory of God, and 
become holy, as he who hath called you is holy ? 

If therefore, Claudius, you consider your figure and 
estate ; or if, in the words of the text, you consider your 
gold and s'ilver, and the corruptible things of this life, 
as any reason why you may live to your own humour 
and fancy, why you may neglect a life of strict piety 
and great devotion ; if you think, any thing in the \yorld 
can be an excuse for your not imitating the holiness 
of Christ in the whole course and form of your life, 
you may make yourself as guilty, as if you should ne¬ 
glect the holiness of Christianity for the sake of picking 
straws. 

For the greatness of this new state of life to which we 
are called in Christ Jesus, to be for ever as the angels 
of God in heaven, and tne greatness of the price by 
which we are made capable of this state of glory, has 
turned every thing that is worldiy, temporal and cor¬ 
ruptible into an equal littleness; and make it as great 
baseness and folly, as great a contempt of the blood of 
Christ, to neglect any degrees of holiness, because you 
are a man of some estate and quality, as it would be to 
neglect it, because you had a fancy to pick straws. 

Agam, the same apostle saith, kno^v ye not^ that your 
body is the temfile of the Holy Ghost which is in youj 
and ye are not your own ? For ye are bought with a 
price ; therefore glorify God in your body^ and in your 
9 pii'it<) which are God*s. 1 Cor. vi. 19, 20. 

How poorly therefore, Claudiu.s, have you read the 
scripture ? how little do you know of Christianity, if you 
can yet talk of your estate and condition, as a pretence 
for a freer kind of life ? 

Are you any more your own, than he that has no es¬ 
tate or dignity in the world ? Must mean and little peo¬ 
ple preserve their bodies as temples of the Holy Ghost, 
by watching, fasting, and prayer ; but may you indulge 
yours in idleness, in lusts, and sensuality, because ye 
have so much rent, or such a title of distinction ? How 
poor and ignorant are such thoughts as these ? And yet 
you must either think thus, or else acknowledge, that the 


DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 


m 


“"5’ apostles is the holiness 

Carp labour after with all the diligence and 

caie tnat you can. ^ 

And if you leave it to others, to live in such piety 
and devotion, in such self-denial, humility and temper- 

boriv God in theiv 

boay and in their spirit; you must leave it to them 
■also, to have the benefit of the blood of Christ. 

Again ; the apostle saitli. You knom horn me exhort^ 

one of you, that you 
mould malk morthy of God, mho hath called you to hie 
kingdom and glory. 1 'I'liess. ii. 11. 

\ou perhaps, Claudius, have often heard these words 

Without ever tiimking how much they required of you. 
And yet you cannot consider them, without perceivino- 
to what an eminent state of holiness they call you. 

for how can the holiness of the Christian life be set 
before you in higner terms, than when it is represented 
to you, as walking worthy of God i Can you think of 
any abatements of virtue, any neglects of devotion, that 
with a life, that is to be made worthy 
of God ? Can you suppose that any man walks in this 
manner, but he that watches over all his steps; and 
considers how ev^ry thing he does, may be done in the 
spirit of holiness X And yet as high as these expressions 
carry this holiness, it is here plainly made the necessary 
holiness of all Christians. For the apostle does not here 
exhort his fellow apostles and saints to this holiness, 
but he commands all Christians to endeavour after it: 
ne charged, says he, every one of yon, that you -would 
walk worthy oj God, who hath called you to hio kim^dom 
and glory. ^ 

Apiii; St. Peter saith, If any man sfieak, let him 
Mfieak fl.9 the oracles of God; if any man minuter, let 
Jnm do It as uf the ability that God giveth ; that God in 
allUiings may be glorified in Christ Jesus, 1 Pet. iv. 1 h 
Do you not hm’e, Claudius, plainly perceive your 
high calling? Is he that spea'.^etn, to nave such rei^ard 
to his words, that he appear to speak as by the direction 
fu ^ I ■ that giveth, to take care that he so giveth* 

- hat what, ho disposeth of may appear to be a gift that 


A SERIOUS CALL TO A 


srs 

he hath of God ? And is all this to be clone, that Go'd 
may be glorified in all things ? 

Must it not then be said, has any man nobility, dig¬ 
nity of state, or figure in the world ? Let him so use his 
nobility or figure of life, that it may appear he uses these 
as the gifts of God, for the greater setting forth of his 
glory. Is there now, Claudius, any thing forced, or 
far-fetched in this conclusion ? Is it not the plain sense 
of the words, that every thing in life is to be made a 
matter of holiness unto God ? If so, then your estate 
and dignity is so far from excusing you from great pie¬ 
ty and holiness of life, that it lays you under a greater 
necessity of living more to the glory of God, because 
you have more of his gifts that may be made servicea¬ 
ble to it. 

For people therefore of figure, or business, or dignity 
in the world, to leave great piety and eminent devotion 
to any particular orders of men, or such as they think 
have little else to do in the world, is to leave the king¬ 
dom of God to them. For it is the very end of Christian¬ 
ity to redeem all orders of men into one holy society, 
that rich and poor, high and low, masters and servants, 
may in one and the same spirit of piety, become a 
choBcn generation^ a royal firiesthood^ an holy nation^ a 
peculiar people^ that are to sheu) forth the praUeB of 
him, viho hath called them out of darkness^ into his 
marvellous light 1 Peter ii 9 

Thus much being said to snew, that great devotion 
and holiness is not to be left to any particular sort of 
people, but to be the common spirit of all that desire to 
live up to the terms of C(ininion Christianity; I now 
procet-d to consider the nature and necessity of universal 
love, which is here recommended to be the subject of 
your devotion at this hour. Yc u are here also called to 
intercession, as the most proper exercise to raise and 
presevve that love. By intercession is meant a praying 
to God, and interceding with him for our fellow crea¬ 
tures 

Our blessed Lord hath recommended his love to us, 
ns the pattern and example of our love to one anotiier. 
therefore he is coiitinually making intercession for 


BEVOUT AND JIOLY LIFi>. 

US all, so ought we to intercede and pray for one anoth,- 
er. 

^ new commandment^ saith he, I give unto you,that ye 
love one another, as I have loved you. By this shall all 
men know that ye are my discifiles, if yelove one another. 

The newness of this precept did not consist in this, 
Vhat men were commanded to love one another; for this 
was an old precept, both of the law of Moses, and of 
nature. But it was new in this respect, that it was to 
imitate a new, and till then unheard-of example of love ; 
it was to love one another, as Christ had loved us. 

And if men are to know that we are disciples of 
Christ, by thus loving one another according to his new 
example of love ; then it is certain, that if we are void 
©f this love, we make it as plainly known unto men, that 
we are none of his disciples. 

There is no principle of the heart that is more accept¬ 
able to God,than an universal fervent love to all mankind, 
wdshing and praying for their happiness ; because there 
is no principle of the heart that makes us more like God, 
who is love and goodness itself, and created ail beings 
for their enjoyment of happiness. 

The greatest idea that we can frame of God is, when 
we conceive him to be a being of infinite love and good¬ 
ness ; using an infinite wisdom and power for the com¬ 
mon good and happiness of all his creatures. 

The highest notion therefore that we can form of man 
is when we conceive him as like to God in this respect 
as he can be ; using all his finite faculties, whether of 
wisdom, power, or prayers, for the common good of all 
his fellow-creatures ; heartily desiring they may have all 
the happiness they are capable of, and as many benefits 
and assistances from him, as his state and condition in 
the world will permit him to give them. 

And on the other hand, what a baseness and iniquitv 
is there in all instances of hatred, envy, spite and ill-wilT; 
if we consider, that every instance of them is so far acting 
in opposition to God, and ititending mischief and harm to 
those creatures, which God favours, and protects, and 
preserves, in order to their happiness ? An ill-natured 
man amongst God’s creatures, is the most perverse crea-^ 
ture in the world, acting contrary to that love, by which 


280 


A SERIOUS CALL TO A 


himself subsists, and Mdiich alone gives subsistence to alK 
that variety of beings, that enjoy life in any part of the 
creation. Whatsoever ye would that men should d(i 
nnto youy even so do unto them. 

Now though this is a doctrine of strict justice, yet it i$ 
®nly an universal love that can comply with it. For as. 
love is the measure of ouracting towards ourselves so we 
«^n never act in the same manner towards other peopl^,^ 
till we look upon them with that love with which we 
look upon ourselves. 

As we have no degrees of spite, or envy, or ill-will to 
ourselves, so we cannot be disposed towards others as we 
are towards ourselves, till we itniversally renounce all 
instances of spite and envy, and ill-will, even in the small¬ 
est degrees. 

If we had any imperfection in our eyes, that made us 
see any one thing wrong, for the same reason they would 
shew us an hundred things wrong. 

So if we have any temper of our hearts^ that makes us 
envious, or spiteful, or ili-natured towards any one man, 
the same temper will make us envious, and spiteful, and 
lil-natured towards a great many more. 

It therefore we desire this divine virtue of love, we 
must exercise and practise our hearts in the love of all, 
because it is not Christian love, till it is the love of all. 

It a man could keep this whole law of love, and yet 
offend in one point, he would be guilty of all. For as 
one allowed instance of injustice destrovs the justice of 
all our other actions, so one allowed instance of envy, 
spite, and ill-will, renders all ourother acts ot benevolence 
and affection nothing worth. 

Acts of love that proceed not from a principle of uni- 
veisal love are but like acts of justice, that proceed from 
a heart not disposed to universal justice. 

A iOve wnich is not universal, may indeed have ten- 
oerness and affection, but it hath notning of righteous¬ 
ness or piety in it; it is but humour, and temper, or 
interest, or such a love as publicans and heatiiens prac¬ 
tise. * 

All particular envies and spites, are as plain departures^ 
Ironi the spirit of Christianity, as any particn'ar acts of 
injustice. For it is as much a law of Christj to treat 


mvotrr and doly life. 


281 


every body as your neighbour, and to love your neigh¬ 
bour as yourself, as it is a law of Christianity, to abstain 
from theft. 

Now the noblest motive to this universal tenderness 
and affection, is founded in this doctrine, God is love, 
and he that dwelleth in him^ d%velleth in God. 

Who therefore, whose heart has any tendency to¬ 
wards God, would not aspire after this divine temper, 
which so changes and exalts our nature into an union 
with him. 

How should we rejoice in the exercise and practice 
of this love, which so often as w e feel it, is so often an 
assurance to us, that God is in us, that we act accordiiu'- 
to his spirit, wdio is love itself? Bin we must observe 
that love has then only this mighty power of uniting us 
to God, when it is so pure and universal, as to imitate 
that love, which God beareth to^all his creatures. 

God willeth the happiness of all beings, though it is 
no happiness to himself. Therefore we must desire the 
happiness of all beings, though no happiness cometh to 
us from it. 

God equally delighteth in the perfections of all his 
creatures, therefore we should rejoice in those perfec¬ 
tions, w’herever we see them, and be as glad to have 
other people perfect as ourselves. 

As God forgiveth all, and giveth grace to all, so we 
should forgive all those injuries and affronts which w^e 
receive from others, and do all the good that we can to 
them. 

God almighty, besides his own great example of love 
which ought to draw all his creatures after it, has so 
provhled for us, and made our happiness so common to 
us all, that we have no occasion to envy or hate one 
another. 

For we cannot stand in one another’s w^ay, or by en¬ 
joying any particular good, keep another from Ins full 
share of it. As tve cannot be happy, but ii. the enjoy¬ 
ment of God, so we cannot rival, or rob one another of 
this happiness. 

And as to other things, the enjoyments and prosperi¬ 
ties of this life they are so little in themselves, so foreign 
to our happiness, and, generally speaking, so contrary 

Z 2 


A (^Att f5cr i 


^ 8 ^ 

to that which they appear to be, that they are no fou-i*' 
dation for envy, or spite, or hatred. 

How silly would it be to envy a man, that was drink¬ 
ing poison out of a golden cup ? and yet who can say, 
that he is acting wiser than thus, when he is envying 
any instance of worldly greatness ? 

How many saints has adversity sent to heaven ? And 
flow many poor sinners has prosperity plunged into ev¬ 
erlasting misery ? A m'an seems then to be in the most 
glorious state, when he has conquered, disgraced, and 
humbled his enemy; though it may be, that same con¬ 
quest has saved his adversary, and undone himself. 

This man had perhaps never been debauched, but for 
his fortune and advancement; that had never been pious 
but through his poverty and disgrace. 

She that is envied for her beauty, may perchance owe 
all her misery to it; a’v;l another may be for ever happy 
for having had no admirers of her person. 

One man succeeds in every thing, and so loses all; 
another meets with nothing but crosses, and disappoint¬ 
ments, and thereby gains more than all the world is 
worth. 

This clergyman may be undone by his being made a 
bishop ; and that may save both himself and others, by 
being fixed to his first poor vicarage. 

How envied was Alexander, when conquering the 
world, he built towns, set lip his statues, and left marks 
®f his glory in so many kingdoms ! And how despised 
was the poor preacher St. Paul, when he was beaten 
with rods ! ^ And yet how strangely was the world mis¬ 
taken in their judgment! How much to be envied waS 
St. Paul! How much to be pitied was Alexander ! 

^ These few reflections sufficiently shew us, that the 
different conditions of this life have nothing in them tb 
excite our uneasy passions, nothing that can reasonably 
interrupt our love and affection to one another. 

To proceed now to another motive to this universal 
love. 

Our power of doing external acts of love and goodness 
IS often very narrow and restrained. There are, it may 
be, but few people to whom ^yecan contribute any work/* 
Vy relief. 


f>EVOUT AND HOLY LIFE 


283 


Sut though our outward means of doing good are 
often thus limited, yet if our hearts are but full of love 
and goodness, we get as it were an infinite power; be¬ 
cause God will attribute to us those good works, those 
acts of love and tender charities, which we sincerely de¬ 
sired, and would gladly have performed, had it been in 
our power. 

You cannot heal all the sick, relieve all the poor ; you 
cannot comfort all in distress, nor be a father to all the 
fatherless. You cannot, it may be, deliver many from 
their misfortunes, or teach them to find comfort in 
God. 

But if there is a love and tenderness in your heart that 
delights in these good works, and excites you to do all 
that you can ; if your love has no bounds, but continu¬ 
ally wishes and prays for the relief and happiness of all 
that are in distress, you will be received by God as a 
benefaetor to those, who have had nothing from you but 
your good will, and tender affections. 

You cannot build hospitals for tne incurable ; you can¬ 
not erect monasteries for the education of persons in 
holy solitude, continual prayer and mortification; but if 
you join in your heart with those that do, and thank 
God for their pious designs ; if you are a friend to these 
great friends to mankind, and rejoice in their eminent 
virtues, you will be received by God as a sharer of such 
good works, as though they had none of your hands, yet 
they had all your heart. 

This consideration surely is sufficient to make us look 
to, and watch over our hearts with all diligence; 
to study the improvement of our inward tempers, and 
aspire after every height and perfection of a loving, 
charitable, and benevolent mind. 

And on the other hand, we may hence learn the great 
evil and mischief of all wrong turns of mind, of envy, 
spite, hatred, and ill-will. For if the goodness of our 
hearts will entitle us to the reward of good actions, 
which we never performed ; it is certain that the badness 
of our hearts, our envy, ill-nature and hatred, will bring 
us under the guilt of actions that we have never com¬ 
mitted. 

As he that lusteth after a woman shall be reckoned 


2ii4> 


A SERIOUS CALL TO 4 


an adulterer, thous^h he has only committed the crime 
in his heart; so the malicious, spiteful, ill-natured man 
that only secretly rejoices at evil, shall be reckoned^a 
murderer, though he Iras shed no blood. 

Since tliererore our hearts, which are always naked, 
and open to the eyes of God, give such an exceeding 
extent and increase either to our virtues or vices, it is 
our best and greatest business to govern the motions of 
our iicarts, to watch, correct, and improve the inward 
state and temper of our souls. 

Now there is nothing that so much exalts our souls, 
as this heavenly love, it cleanses and purifies like a holy 
lire, and all ill tempers fall away before it. It makes 
room for all virtues, and carries them to their greatest 
height. Every thing that is good and holy grows out 
of it, and it becomes a continual source of all holy de¬ 
sires, and pious practices. By love, I do not mean any 
natural tenderness, which is more or less in people ac¬ 
cording to their constitutions ; but I mean a larger prin¬ 
ciple of the soul, founded in reason and piety, which 
makes us lender, kind, and benevolent to all our fellow- 
creatures, as creatures of God, awd for his sake. 

It is this love that loves all things in God, as his 
creatures, as the images of his power, as the creatures 
of his goodness, as parts of his family, as members of 
his society, that becomes a holy principle of all great 
and good actions. 

The love therefore of our neighbour is only a branch 
of our love to God. For when we love God with all our 
hearts, and with all our souls, and with all our strength, 
we shall necessarily love those beings that are so nearly 
related to God, that have every thing from him, and 
created by him, to be objects of his own eternal love. 
If I hate or despise any one man in the world, I hate 
something that God cannot hate, and despise that which 
he loves. 

And can I think that I love God with all my heart 
whilst I hate that which belongs only to God, which has 
no other master but him, which bears his image, is part 
of his family, and exists only by the continuance of his 
love towards it ? It was the impossibility of this that 


DE VOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 


286 


made St. John say, That if any man saithy he loveth Gody 
and hateth his brother^ he is a liar. 

1 hese reasons sufficiently shew us, that no love is holy 
or religious, till it becomes universal. 

^ hor if religion requires me to love all persons, as 
God’s creatures, that belong to him, that bear his image, 
enjoy his protection, and make parts of his family and 
household; it these are the great and necessary reasons 
why I should live in love and friendship with any one 
man in tiie world, they are the same great and necessary 
reasons why I should live in love and friendship with eve¬ 
ry one man in the world: and consequently 1 offend 
against all these reasons, and break through all these ties 
and obligations, whenever I want love towards any one 
man. The sin therefore of hating or despising any one 
man is like the sin of hating all God’s creation ; and 
the necessity of loving any one man, is the same necessity 
of loving every man in the world. And though many 
people may appear to us ever so sinful, odious, or extra¬ 
vagant in their coiiduct, we must never look upon that 
as the least motive for any contempt or disregard of 
them, but look upon them with the greater compassion, 
as being in the most pitiable condition that can be. 

As it was tlie sins of the world, that made the Son of 
God become a compassionate suffering advocate for all 
mankind ; so none is of the Spirit of Christ, but he that 
has the utmost compassion for sinners. Nor is there any 
greater sign of your own perfection, than when you find 
yourself all love ai.'d compassion towards them tiiat are 
very weak and defective. And on the other hand, you 
have never less reason to be pleased with yourself, t^an 
when you find yourself most angry and offended at the 
behaviour of others. All sin is certainly to be hated and 
abhorred wherever it is ; but then we must set ourselves 
against sin, as we do against sickness and diseases, by 
shew ing ourselves tender and compassionate to the sick 
and diseased. 

All other hatred of sin, which does not fill the heart 
with the softest, lenderest affections tow^ards persons 
miserable in it, is the servant of sin at the same that it 
seems to be hating at. 

And there is no temper which even good men ou^ht 


A SERIOUS CALL T@ A 


more carefully to watch and guard against than this. 
For it is a temper that lurks and hides itself under the 
cover of many virtues, and by being unsuspected does 
the more mischief. 

A man naturally fancies, that it is his own exceeding 
love of virtue tliat makes ium not able to bear with those 
" that want it. And when he abhors one man, despises 
another, and cannot bear the name of a third, he sup¬ 
poses it all to be a proof of his own high sense of virtue^ 
and just hatred of sin. 

And yet one would think, that a man needed no others 
cure for this distemper, than this one reflection : 

That if this had been the Spirit of the bon of God> 
if he had hated sin in this manner, there had been no re¬ 
demption of the world : That if God had hated sinners 
in this manner day and night, the world itself had ceased 
long ago. 

This therefore we may take for a certain rule, that the 
more we partake of th: divine nature, the more improved 
we are ourselves ; and the higher our sense of virtue is, 
the more we shall pity and passionate those that want 
it. The sight of such people will then, instead of raising 
in us a haughty contempt, or peevish indignation, to¬ 
wards them, fill us with such bowels of compassion, as 
when we see the miseries of an hospital. 

That the follies therefore, crimes and ill behaviour of 
our fellow-creature.s, may not lessen that love and tender¬ 
ness which we are to have for ail mankind, we should 
often consider the reasons on which this duty of love is 
founded. 

^ Now we are to love our neighbour, tliat is, all man¬ 
kind, not because they are wise, holy, virtuous, or well- 
behaved ; for all mankind neither ever was, nor ever will 
be so ; therefore it is certain, that the reason of our being 
obliged to love them, cannot be founded in their virtue. 

Again ; if their virtue or goodness were the reason of 
our being obliged to love people, we should have no rule 
to proceed by ; because though some people's virtues or 
vices are very notorious, yet, generally speaking, we are 
but very ill judges of the virtue and merit of otiier people. 

Thirdly, We are sure that the virtue or merit of per- 
.^5ns^ is not the reason of our being obliged to love them. 


DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 


287 


liecause we are commanded to pay the highest instances 
•f love to our worst enemies ; we are to love, and bless, 
and pray for those that most injuriously treat us. This 
therefore is demonstration, that the merit of persons is 
not the reason on which our obligation to love them is 
founded. 

Let us farther consider, what that love is, which we 
©we to our neighbour. It is to love him as ourselves, 
that is, to have all those sentiments towards him, which 
we have towards ourbelves; to wish him every thing 
that we may lawfully wish to ourselves; to be glad of 
every good, and sorry for every evil that happens to him; 
and be ready to do him all such acts of kindness, as we 
are always ready to do ourselves. 

This love therefore, you see, is nothing else but a love 
«f benevolence ; it requires nothing of us, but such good 
wishes, tender affections, and such acts of kindness, as 
we shew to ourselves. 

This is all the love that we owe to the best of men; 
and we are never to want any degree of this love to the 
worst, or most unreasonable man in the wmrld. 

Now what is the reason why we are to love every 
man in this manner ? It is answered that dui obligations 
to love all men in this manner, is founded upon many 
reasons. 

First, Upon a reason of equity ; for if it is just to love 
ourselves in this manner, it must be unjust to deny any 
degree of this love to others, because every man is so 
exactly of the same nature, and in the same condition as 
ourselves. 

If therefore your own crimes and follies do not lessen 
your obligation to seek your own good, and wish well 
to yourself; neither do the'follies and crimes of your 
neighbour lessen your obligation to wish and seek the 
good of your neighbour. 

Another reason for this love is founded in the author* 
ity of God, who has commanded us to iove every man as 
yourself. 

Thirdly, We are obliged to this love, i , imitation of 
God s goodness, that we may be children ol cur Father, 
*which is in Heaven, who wiileth tae happiness oV ail his 


288 A SERIOUS CALL TO A 

creatures, anclmaketh his sun to rise on the evil, and oii 
the good. { 

Fourthly, Our redemption by Jesus Christ, calleth us 
to the exercise of this Ibve, who came from heaven, and 
laid down his life, out of love to the whole sinful wndd. 

Fifthly, By the command of our Lord and baviour, 
who has required us to love one another, as he has loved 
us. 

These are the great perpetual reasons, on which 
our obligation to love all mankind as ourselves, is 
founded 

These reasons never vary, or change, they always con¬ 
tinue in their full force ; and therefore equally oblige al 
all limes, and in regard to all persons. 

God loves us, not because we are wise, and good, and 
holy, but in pity to us, because we want this happiness : 
he loves us, in order to make us good. Our love there¬ 
fore must take this course ; not lookihg for, or requiring 
the merit of our brethren, but pitying their disorders, 
and wishing theni all the good that they want, and are 
capable of receiving. 

It appears now plainly from what has been said, that 
the love which we owe to our brethren, is only a love of 
benevolence, becondly. That this duty of benevolence 
is founded upon such reasons as never vary or change ; 
such as have no dependence upon the qualities^ of 
persons. From whence it follows, that it is the same 
great sin, to want this love to a bad man, as to want 
it to a good man. Because he that denies any of 
this benevolence to a bad man, offends against all the 
same reasons of love, as he does that denies any bene¬ 
volence to a good man; And consequently it is the 
same sin. 

^ When therefore you let loose an ill naturcd pas¬ 
sion, either of hatred or contempt towards (as you 
suppose) an ill man, consider what you would think 
of another, that was doing the same towards a good 
man, and be assured that you are committing the same 

\ovi will perhaps say. How is it possible to love a 
good and a bad man in the same degree ? ^ 


289 


DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE 

Just as it is possible to be as just and faithful to a 
good man, as to an evil man. Now are you in any dif- 
^culty about performing justice and faithfulness to a 
Oad man I Are you in any doubts, whether you need be 
so just and faitldul to iiim, as you need be to a good 
man Now why is it, that you are in no doubt about 
U . It IS because you know that justice and faithful¬ 
ness are founded upon reasons that never vary or change 
that have no dependance upon the merits of men, but 
are founded in the nature of things, in the laws of God, 
and therefore are to be observed with unequal exactness 
towards good and bad men. 

Now do but tliink thus justly of charity, or love to 
your neighbour, that it is founded upon reasons, that 
vaiy not, that have no dependance upon the merits of 
men, and then you will find it as possible to perform the 
same exact charity, as the same exact justice to all men, 
whether good or bad. 

You will perhaps farther ask, if you are not to have 
a particular esteem, veneration and reverence for good 
men? It is answered; Yes. But then this high es¬ 
teem and veneration, is a thing very diiferent from that 
love of benevolence Wihch we owe to our iieigiibour. 

TiiC higii esteem and veneration which you nave for 
_a man of emment piety, is no act of charity to ihm ; 
it is not of pity and compassion tliat you so reverence 
him, but it is rather an act of charity to yourself, taat 
such esteem and veneration may excite you to lollnw 
his example. 

^ You may, and ought to love, like and approve the 
life which the good man leads ; but then t ds is only the 
loving of virtue, wherever we see it. And we do not 
Jove virtue wdh the love of benevolence, as any thing 
that wants our good wishes, but as sometiiing that is 
our proper good. 

The whole of the matter is this. The actions whicli 
you arc to love, esteem and a<]mire, are the actions of 
good and pious men ; but the persons to whom you are 
to do all the good you cai', in all sorts of kindness and 
eompassion, are all persons whether good or bad. 

This distinction betwixt love benevolence, and cs- 

A a 


29d 


A SERIOUS CALL TO A 


teem or veneration, is very plain and obvious. And you 
may perhaps still better see the plainness and necessi¬ 
ty of it, by this following instance. 

No man is to have a high esteem, or honour, for his 
6wn accomplishments, or behaviour; yet every man is 
to love himself, that is, to wish well to himself; there¬ 
fore this distinction betwixt love and esteem, is not only 
plain, but very necessary to be obseryed. 

Again : if you think it hardly possible to dislike the 
actions of unreasonable men, and yet have a true love 
for them : consider this with relation to yourself. 

It is very possible, I hope, for you not only to dislike^ 
but to detest and abhor a great many of your own past 
actions, and to accuse yourself with great folly for them. 
But do vou then lose any of those tender sentimentb to¬ 
wards yourself, which you used to have ? Do you then 
cease to wish well to yourself? Is not the love of your¬ 
self as strong then, as at any other time ? 

Now what is thus possible with relation to ourselves, 
is in the same manner possible with relation to others. 
We may have the highest good wishes towards them, 
desiring for them every good that we desire for ourselves, 
and yet at the same time dislike their way of life. 

To proceed; all that love which we m^y justly have 
for ourselves, we are in strict justice obliged to exercise 
towards all other men ; and we offend against the great 
law of OUT nature, and the greatest laws of God, when 
our tempers towards others are different from those 
which we have towards ourselves. 

Now that self-love which is just and reasonable, keeps 
us constantly tender, compassionate, and well affected 
towards ourselves; if therefore you do not feel these 
kind dispositions towards ail other people, you may be 
assured, that you are not in that state of charity, wnich 
is ti'.e very life and soul of Christian piety. 

You know how it Irurts you to be made the jest and 
ridicule of other people ; how it grieves you to be rob¬ 
bed of your reputation, and deprived of the favoutable 
opinion of your neighbt rs ; Iftlicrefoieyou expose others 
to scorn and contempt in any decree; if it pioasesyou 
to see or bear of their frailties or infirmities; or if you are 


CEVOUT *VND HOLY LIFE. 


29^ 


•lily loath to conceal their faults, you are so far from 
loving such people as yourself, that you may be justly 
supposed to have as much hatred from them, as you have 
love for yourself. For such tempers are as truly the 
proper fruits ot hatred, as the contrary tempers are the 
proper fruits of love. 

And as it is a certain sign that you love yourself, 
because you are tender of every thing that concerns 
you : so it is as certain a sign that you hate your neigh¬ 
bour, when you are pleased with any thing that hurts 
him. 

But now, if the want of a true and exact charity be 
so great a want, that, as St. Paul saith, it renders our 
greatest virtues but empty sounds, and tinkling cymbals, 
how highly does it concern us to study every art, and 
practise every method of raising our souls to this state of 
charity ( It is for this reason, that you are here desired, 
not to let this hour of prayer pass, without a full and 
solemn supplication to God, for all the instances of an 
universal love and benevolence to all mankind. 

Such daily constant devotion, being the only likely 
means of preserving you in such a state of love, as is 
necessary to prove you to be a true follower of JcsiXs. 
Christ. 


CHAP. XXI. 

pf the necessity and benefit o/intercession, considered as- 
an exercise of universal lo-ve. How ait orders of men 
are to firay and intercede with God for one another. 
How naturalty such intercession amends and reforms 
the hearts of those that use it. 

THAT intercession is a great and necessary part 
of cliristian devotion, is very evident from scripture. 

The first followers of Christ seem to support all their 
love, and to maintain all their intercourse and corres-.. 
pondence, by mutual prayers for one another. 


A SEIIIOUS CALL TO A 


'^95 


St. Paul, whether he writes to churches, or particufau 
persons, shews his intercession to be perpetual for thbnl, 
that they are the constant subject of his prayers. 

Thus to the Phillippians, I thank my God ufion every 
remejnhrance of you. AL^mys in every firayer of mine 
for you ail, making request %vith joy. Phil i. 4 . 5. Here 
we see, not only a continual intercession, but perform¬ 
ed with so much gladness as shews that it was an exer¬ 
cise of love, in which he highly rejoiced. 

His devotion had also the same care for particulai* 
persons ; as appears by the following passage. I thank 
my God, whoin I serve from my forefathers, loith a pure 
conscience, that, ’ivilhout ceasing, I have remembrance of 
thee in my prayers night and day. 2 Tim. i. 3. How 
holy an acquaintance and friendship was this, how wor¬ 
thy of persons that were raised above the w'orld, and 
I'elated to one another, as new members of the kinp-dom 
of heaven ! 

Apostles and great saints did not only thus benefit and 
bless particular churcltes, and private persons ; but they 
themselves also received graces from God by the pray- 
tvs of others. Thus saith St. Paul to the Corinthians, 
You also helping together by prayer for us, that for the 
gift bestowed upon us by the means of many persons, 
thanks may be given by many on our behalf 2 Cor. i. I U 

This was the ancient friendship of Christians, unhinc>-* 
and cementing their hearts, not by worldly considera¬ 
tions ol iuiman passions, but by the mutual communica¬ 
tions of spiritual blessings, by prayers and thanksp-iviinr 
to (rod for one another. ^ 

it was this holy intercession that raised clnisiians to 
such a state of mutual love, as far exceeded all that had 
been praised and admired in human friendship. And 
when the same spirit of intercession is again in the 
world, when Christianity has tlie same power over the 
hearts ol people, that it then had, tins h.oly friendship 
will oe again m iasluon, and Christian's will be again the 
wonder of the world, for that exceeding love which they 
bear to one another. 

For a frequent intercession witii God, earnestly be- 
seedling him to forgive the sins of all maiikiiKl, lo bless 
»em with his providenee, eiiUghtcn them with his 


DEVOUT A'ND HOLY LIFE. 


£S3 

spiiK, and bring them to everlasting happiness, is the 
divinest exercise that the heart of man can be eiic a. ed 

in. ^ 

Be daily therefore on your knees in a solemn, delibe¬ 
rate performance of this devotion, praying for others in 
forms, with such length and importunity, and eai» cst- 
ness, as you use for yourself; and you will find ail .ittle 
ill-natured passions die away, your heart grow gieat and 
I generous, delighting in the common happiness ol others-, 

1 as you used only to delight in your own, 

. For he that daily prays to God, tl.ai all men may be 
i happy in heaven, takes the likeliest way to make i.im 
' wish for, and delight in their happiness on earth. And 
i it is hardly possible for you to beseech and intieat God • 
to make any one happy in the highest enjoyn ents of his 
glory to all eternity, and yet be trcubled to sec him en¬ 
joy the much smaller gifts of God in this short and low 
state of human life. For how strange and unnatural 
I would it be to pray to Gou to gi ant hca th and a longer 
life to a sick man, and at the same time to envy him the 
poor pleasures of agreeable medicir.es I Yet this would 
i be no more strange, or unnatui al, than to piay to God 
I that your neighbour may enjoy the highest degrees of 
his mercy and favour, and yet at the same time envy him 
the little credit and figure he hath amongst his feilow- 
creatures^ 

When therefore you have once habituated your heart 
to a serious peiformance of this holy intercession, you 
have done a great deal to render it*incapable ol spite 
and envy, and to make it naturally delight in the happi¬ 
ness of all mankind. This is the iia\urai effect of a 
general intercession for ail mankind. But the greatest 
benefits of it are then received, when it descends to such 
particular instances as our state and condition in life 
• more particularly require of us. 

Though we are to treat ail mankind as neighbours and 
brethren, as any occasion offers ; yet as we can only live 
in the actual society of a few, and are by our state and 
condition more particularly related to some than others ; 
so when our intercession is made an exercise of love ai.cl 
care for those amongst whom our lot is fallen, or who 
belong to us in a nearer relation, it then becomes the 






1 Sti'R'IOt/S e'Att fiS- li 


{greatest benefit to ourselves, and produces its best el!'- 
fects in our own hearts. If therefore you should always 
change and alter your intercessions according as the- 
needs and necessities of your neighbors or acquaintance- 
seem to require; beseeching God to deliver them from 
such or such particular evils, or to grant them this or 
fliat particular gift, or blessing ; such intercessions, be¬ 
sides the great charity of them, would have a mighty 
effect upon your own heart, as disposing you to every 
©ther good office, and to the exercise of every other vir¬ 
tue towards such persons, as have so often a place in 
your prayers. 

This would make it pleasant to you to be caurteous, 
civil and condescending to all about you ; and make you 
unable to say^ or do, a rude, or hard thing to those, for 
whom you had used yourself to be so kind and compas¬ 
sionate in your prayers. For there is nothing that makes 
us love a man so much, as praying for him ; and when 
you can once do this sincerely for any man, you have 
fitted your soul for the performance of every thing that 
is kind and civil towards him. This will fill your heart 
with a generosity and tenderness, that will give you a 
better and sweeter behaviour, than any thing that is cal¬ 
led fine breeding and good manners. 

By considering yourself as an advocate with God for 
your neighbours and acquaintance, you would never 
find it hard to be at peace with them yourself. It would 
be easy to you to bear with, and forgive those, for whonii 
you particularly implored the divine mercy and forgive¬ 
ness. 

Such prayers as these amongst neighbours and acquain¬ 
tance, would unite them to one another in the strongest 
bonds of love and tenderness. It would exalt and enno¬ 
ble their souls, and teach them to consider one another 
in a higher slate, as members of a spiritual society, that 
are created for the enjoyment of the common blessings 
of God, and fellow-heirs of the same future glory. And 
by being thus desirous, that every one siiould have their 
full share of the favours of God, they would not only be 
content, but glad to see one another happy in the little 
enjoyments of this transitory life. These would be the 
effoctsr of such an intercession amongst people 


295 


DEVOtJT AND HOLY LIFE. 

Ot the same town or neighbourhood, or that were ac¬ 
quainted with one another’s state and condition. 

Ouraniiis is a holy priest, full of the spirit of the p-os- 
pel, watcliint^, labourinij, and praying for a poor country 
village. Every soul in it is as dear to him as hiinseif; 
and he loves them all, as be loves himself; because he 
prays for them all, as often as he prays for himself. If 
his whole life is one continual exercise of great zeal and 
labour, hardly ever satisfied with any degrees of care and 
watchfulness, it is because he has learned the great value 
of souls, by 90 often appearing before God, as an inter¬ 
cessor for them. 

He never thinks he can love, or do enough for his 
flock ; because he nev'er considers them in any other 
view, than as so many persons, that by receiving the 
gifts and graces of God, are to become his hope, his jojv 
and his crown of rejoicing. He goes about his parish, 
and visits every body in it ; but visits in the same spirit 
of piety that he preaches to them ; he visits them to en¬ 
courage their virtues, to assist them with his advice and 
counsel, to discover their manner of life, and to know 
the state of their souls, that he may intercede with God 
for them, according to their particular necessities. 

When Ouranius first entered into holy orders, he had 
a haughtiness in his temper, a great contempt and dis¬ 
regard for all foolish and unreasonable people ; but he 
has prayed away this spirit, and has now the greatest 
tenderness for the most obstinate sinners ; because he is 
always hoping, that God will sooner or later hear those 
prayers that he makes for their repentance. The rude¬ 
ness, ill-nature, or perverse behaviour of any of his flock, 
used at first to betray him into impatience ; but it now- 
raises no other passion in him than a desire of being up¬ 
on his knees in prayer to God for them. 

Thus have his prayers forothers, altered and amended 
the state of his own heart. It would strangely delight 
you to see with what spirit he converses, with what ten¬ 
derness he reproves, with what affection he exhorts, and 
with what vigour he preaches ; and it is all owing to 
this, because he reproves, exhorts, and preaches to those 
for whom he first prays to God. This devotion softens 
l\is heart, enlightens his mind, sweetens his temper^. 


A SERIOUS CALL TG A 


296 ’ 

and makes every thing that comes from him, instruc¬ 
tive, amiable and affecting. At his first coming to this 
little village, it was as disagreeable to him as a prison^ 
and every day seemed too tedious to be endured in so 
retired a place. He thought his parish was too full of 
poor and mean people, that were none of them fit for the 
conversation of a gentleman. 

This put him upon a close application to his studies. 
He kept much at home, writ notes upon Homer and^ 
Plautus, and sometimes thought it hard to be called tO’ 
pray by any poor body, when he was just in the midst of 
one of Homer’s battles. This was his polite, or I may 
rather say, poor ighorant turn of mind, before devotion 
had get the government of his heart. But now his days 
are so far fiom being tedious, or his parish too great 
a retirement, that he now only wants more time to do 
that variety of good which his soul thirsts after. The 
solitude of his little parish is become matter of great 
comfort to him, because he hopes that God has placed 
him and his fiock there, to make it their way to heaven. 
He can now not only converse with, but gladly attend 
and wait upon, the poorest kind of people. He is now 
daily watching over the weak and infirm, humbling him¬ 
self to perverse, rude, ignorant people wherever he can 
find them; and is so far from desiring to be considered 
as a gentleman, that he desires to be used as the servant 
of all ; and in the spirit of his Lord and master girds 
himself, and is glad to kneel down and wash any of their 
feet. He now thinks the poorest creature in his parish 
good enough, and great enough, to deserve the humblest 
attendances, the kindest friendships, the tenderest offi¬ 
ces, he can possibly shew them. He is so far now from 
wanting agreeable company, that he thinks there is no 
better conversation in the world, than to be talking with 
poor and mean people about the kingdom of heaven. 
All these noble thoughts and divine sentiments are the 
effects of his great devotion ; he presents every one 
so often before God in his prayers, that he never thinks 
he can esteem, reverence, or serve those enough, for 
whom he implores so many mercies from God.^ 

Ouranius is mightily affected with this passage of holy- 
scripture, Me effectual fervent firayer of a righteous man 


DEVOUT ANT) HOLY LIFE. 297 

availeth much. James v. 15. This makes him practise 
an the arts of holy living, and aspire after every instance 
of piety and righteousness, that his prayers for his flock 
luay have their full force, and avail much with God. 
t or this reason he has sold a small estate that he had, and 
has erected a charitable retirement for ancient, poor peo¬ 
ple to live in prayer and piety, that his prayers being 
assisted by such good works, may pierce the clouds, and 
bring down blessings upon those souls committed to hi# 
care. 

Ouranius reads how God himself said unto Abimelech 
concerning Abraham, He is a firofihet: he shall pray for 
thee^ and thou shalt live. Gen, xx 7. And again, how 
he said of Job : And my servant Job shall pray for you ; 
for him will I accept. Job xlii. 8 

From these passages, Ouranius justly concludes, that 
the prayers of men eminent for holiness of life, have an 
extraordinary power with God ; that he grants to other 
people such pardons, reliefs and blessings, tiirough their 
prayers, as would not be granted to men of less piety 
andperlection. ThismakesOuraniuscxceedingsludious 
of Christian perfection, searching after every grace and 
holy temper, purifying Jus heart all manner' of ways, 
fearful of every error and defect in liis life, lest his pray¬ 
ers for his flock should be less availing with God, 
through his own def^^cts in holiness. 

This makes him careful of every temper of his heart, 
gives alms of all that he hath, watch, and fast, and mor¬ 
tify, and live according to the strictest rules of tempe¬ 
rance, meekness and humility, tJiat he may be in some 
degree like an Abraham, or a Job, in his parish- and 
make such prayers for them, as God will hear and ac¬ 
cept. 

These are the happy effects, which a devout interces¬ 
sion i'.ath produced in the life of Ouranius. And if other 
people in their several stations, were to imitate this 
example, in such a manner as suited tneir particular 
state of life, they would certainly find the same happy 
effects from it. 

If masters, for instance, w'ere thus to remember their 
servants in tneir prayers, beseeching God to bless them, 
and suiting their petitions to the particular wants and 


A SERIOUS CALL TO k 


necessities of their servants ; letting no day pass, witk- 
out a full performance of this part of devotion j the ben¬ 
efit would be as great to themselves, as to their servants. 
No way so likely as this, to inspire them with a true 
sense of tnat power which they have in their hands, to 
make them delighi in doing good, and becoming exem¬ 
plary in all tie pu’ts of a wise and good master, 'Fhe 
preseriting their servants so often before God, as equally 
related to God, and entitled to the same expectations 
of heaven, as themselves, would naturally incline them 
to treat tiiem, not only with such humanity, as become 
feliow-crfcatur<^s, but with such tenderness, care, and 
generosity, as became fellow-heirs of the same glory. 
This devotion would make masters inclined to every 
thing that was good towards their servants ; be watchful 
of their behaviour, and as ready to require of them an 
exact observance of the duties of cliristianity, as of the 
duties of tneir servants. Tl)is would teacn them to con¬ 
sider their servants as Goal’s servants, and desire their 
perfection, to do nothing before them that might corrupt 
their minds, to impose no business upon them that should 
lessen their sense of religion, or hinder them from their 
full sliare of devotion, both public and private. This 
praying for them, would make them as glad to see their 
servants eminent in piety as themselves, and contrive 
that they should have all the opportunities and encou¬ 
ragements, both to know and perform all the duties of 
the Christian life. How natural would it be for such a 
master, to perform every part of family-devotion; to 
liave constant prayers ; to excuse no one’s absence from 
them ; to have the scriptures, and books of piety, often 
read amongst his servants; to take all opportunities of 
instructing them, of raising their minds to God, and teach¬ 
ing them to do all their business, as a service to God, and 
upon tne hopes and expectations of another life ? How 
natural would it be for such a one to pity their weakness 
and Ignorance, to bear with the dulncss of their under¬ 
standings, or the perversenessof their tempers; toreprove 

them with tenderness, exhort them with affection, as 
hoping that God would hear his prayers for them ? How 
impossible would it be for a master, t .at thus interced- 
cd wdh God for his servants, to use any unkind threat- 


•EVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 


m 

enings towards them, to damn and curse them as dogs 
and scoundrels, and treat them only as the dregs of the 
©reation. This devotion would give them another spirit, 
and make them consider how to make proper returns of 
care, kindness and protection to those, who had spent 
their strength and time in service and attendance upon 
them. 

Now if gentlemen think it so low an employment for 
their state and dignity, to exercise such a devotion as 
this for tJ.eir servants, let them consider how far they 
are from the spirit of Christ, who made himself not only 
an intercessor, hut a sucrihee for the whole race of sin¬ 
ful mankind. 

Let ttiem consider how miserable their greatness 
would be, if two ton of God shouid think n as mucli be¬ 
low him to pray for them, as tiiey do to pray for their 
fellow-creatures. L t them consider how far they aie 
from that spiiit, wi'ifi, prays for its most ujjiust ene¬ 
mies, if they have not kindness enough to pray tor tnose, 
by wnose labours and service they live in ease tiiem- 
selves. 

Again ; if parents shouid thus make themselves advo¬ 
cates and intercessors with God for their children, con- 
stantiy uppiying to heaven in hehalf of them, nothing 
wouid be more likeiy, not only to biess t!;eir children, 
but also to form and dispose tneir own minds to tiie per¬ 
formance of every thu g c'ldt was excellent and praise¬ 
worthy. I do not suppose, but that the gciieraiity of 
parents remember their cniioren in their prayeis, and 
call upon God to bless But the thing here in¬ 

tended, is not a general remembram c oftiiCm. buta regu¬ 
lar method of recomn ending uli fluir p’t'.rdcular needs 
and necessities unto God ; and of prayii.g lor evej y such 
particular grace and virtue inr them, as t«teir staie and 
condition of life shall seens to irnuire. 

The state of pareiits is a h'.dy stc.te, in some degree 
like that of the pricsiljoo'.i. and cans upoi. then to bless 
their chiichen wdth their pviiyeis ano saenfu e:-God. 
Thus it was that holy Joi- washed over, anci bi( ssed 
his children, he nancrif.^ d th^nu hv rom v; < urii, in the 
morning atid offt-r.^d bw) accc/uing (o the 

number of them alt^ Job. i. 5. 


A SERIOUS CALL TO A 


S0O 

If parents therefore, considering themselves in this 
light, should be daily calling upon God in a solemn, de¬ 
liberate manner, altering and extending their interces¬ 
sions, as the state and growth of their children required, 
such devotion would have a mighty influence upon the 
rest of their lives ; it would make them very circumspect 
in the government of themselves; prudent and careful 
of every thing they said or did, lest their example should 
hinder that, which they so constantly desired in their 
prayers. If a father was daily making particular pray¬ 
ers to God, that ne would please to inspire his children 
with true piety, great humility, and strict temperance, 
what could be more likely to make the father himself 
become exemplary in these virtues ? How naturally 
would he grow ashamed of wanting such virtues, as he 
thought necessary for his children ? So that his pray¬ 
ers for their piety, would be a certain means of exalting 
his own to its greatest height. 

If a father tints considered himself as an intercessor 
witu God for his children, to bless them with his pray¬ 
ers what more likely means to make him aspire af.er 
every degree of holiness that he might thereby be fitter 
tc obtain blessings from heaven for them ? How would 
such thoughts make him avoid every thing that was sin¬ 
ful aitd displeasing to God, lest when he prayed for his 
children, God should reject his prayers ? How tenderiv, 
how’ religiously, would such a father converse with his 
children, whom he-considered as his little spiritual flock, 
w'hose virtues he was to form by bis example, encourage 
by his authority, nourish by bis counsel, and piosper by 
his prayers to God for them ? 

How fearful would he be of all greedy and unjust 
ways of raising their fortune, of bringing them up in 
pride and indulgence, or of making them too fond of 
the w^orld, lest he should thereby render them incapable 
of those graces which he w^as so often beseeching God 
to grant them. 

These being the plain, natural, happy efTects of this 
intercession, all parents, I hope, who have the real wel¬ 
fare of their children at heart, who desire to be their true 
friends and benefactors and to live amongst them in the 
spirit of wdsdom and piety, wflli not neglect so great a 


devout and holy life. 

botll of fK^* • 

eternal good to thoa^^t Lrio^rar"*^’iT'' 
by the strong est ties oCture “ 

in all little disagf P‘’ i if 

ever, they should, instead ?• what- 

little low reaections, have L'o 
more particular and extraordins -'’! “* ^''5^ ’ “ 

for such persons as uS'"i'hGod, 

or discontent?this wo,dd bTa c f-'' >«^<^‘'‘"'entt 

growth of all uncharitabt^cmne:?" Tf ^ 

form your praver or info also to 

greatest delrelo^eontrSvT’n f ‘^e 

was then in, it would be an Lcellent'"'f 
your heart to the P-reatPQf ct f t nieans of raising 

mstance : when at I ? me yt h d'in''"‘'“’,- 

tions of envy towards anv ,7.?. ^ mo- 

of his riches, power, reputatbn^”lp^^^^^^^*'account 

ment, if you should imnlediatelv 

time to your prayers 3 ,.? ? 7? yourself at that 

perhim'in th^v^ryS'l ‘°bfoss and pros- 

you should express andVeoP^tf your env'y ; if 

strongest terms, beseechimr God to petitions in the 

piness from the enjoymerit^of it 

ceived, you would soon rl? * i f ^ re. 

the world, to expel the venom of antidote in 

This would be such a trinmiVv ^ poisonous passion, 
humble and reduce your heart in’t?''l ^T'*®'** 

that the devil woumL , ?*r 

again in the sarnTm^r^^t^t^sa^thr,'’''"^ 

ln?:herte?7f;rire3r"" 

that 

tion, a neighbotir, or any one pUp ^ 'f 

for them in a more extrLrdinarv man^ then pray 

did before, bcseechiiur God irv than you ever 

and biessing, and hai>piness you cin '^'''7,’ 

h ive taken the speediest mp^pw i •}^u would 

oiling al. di(rerenk:,td ^ S n’? f ' 

»... r.« ,.,1, 

B b 


S02 


A SERIOUS CALL TO A 


forgiven, stay for no condescensions, need no mediation 
of a third person, but be glad to testify your love and 
good will to him, who had so high a place in your se¬ 
cret prayers. This would be the mighty power of such 
Christian devotion ; it would remove all peevish pas¬ 
sions, soften your heart into the most tender conde¬ 
scensions, and be the best arbitrator of all differences 
that happened between you and any of your acquaint¬ 
ance. 

The greatest resentments amongst friends and neigh¬ 
bours most often arise from poor punctilios and little 
mistakes in conduct. A certain sign that their frindship 
is merely human, not founded upon religious considera¬ 
tions, or supported by such a course of mutual prayer 
for one another, as the first Christians used. For such 
devotion must necessarily either destroy such tempers, 
or be itself destroyed by them. You cannot possibly 
have any ill temper, or shew any unkind behaviour to a 
man for whose welfare you are so much concerned, as 
to be his advocate with God in private. 

Hence we may learn the odious nature and exceed¬ 
ing guilt of spite, hatred, contempt, and angry passions ; 
they are not to be considered as defecis in good nature 
and sweetness of temper, not as failings iu civility of 
manners or good breeding, but as such base tempers, as 
are entirely inconsistent with the charity of intercession. 
You think it a small matter to be peevish or ill-natured 
to such or such a man; but you should consider, whe¬ 
ther it be a small matter to do tnat, which you could 
not do, if you had but so much charity as to be able to 
recommend him to God in your prayers. You think it 
a small matter to ridicule one man, and despise ano¬ 
ther ; but you should consider, whether it be a small 
matter to want that charity towards these people, which 
Christians are not allowed to want towards their most 
inveterate enemies. For be but as charitable to these 
men, do but bless and pray for them, as you are obliged 
to bless and pray for your enemies, and then you will 
find that you have charity enough, to make it impossi¬ 
ble for you to treat them with any degree of scorn or 
contempt. For you cannot possibly despise and ridicule 


DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 


303 


that man whom your private prayers recommend to the 
love and favour of God. 

When you despise and ridicule a man, it is with no 
other end but to make him ridiculous and contemptible 
m the eyes of other men, and in order to prevent their 
esteem of him. How therefore can it be possible for 
you sincerely to beseech God to bless that man with the 
honour of his love and favour, whom you desire men to 
treat as worthy of their contempt ? 

Could you out of love to a neighbour, desire your 
pr.mce to honour him with every mark of esteem and fa¬ 
vour, and yet at the same time expose him to the scorn 
and derision of your own servants ? Yet this is as pos¬ 
sible, as to expose that man to the scorn and contempt of 
your fellow-creatures, whom you recommend to the 
tavour ot God in your accret prayers. 

From these considerations we may plainly discover 
gospel, PF/ibhri)?-? iu^ticc of this doctrine of the 

in. danger of the council; but K^hosoever shall sayThoil 
fool^ shall oe in danger of hell fre^ Matt. v. 22. We 
are not, I suppose, to believe that every hasty word, or 
unreasonable expression that slips from us by chance, or* 
surprise, and is contrary to our intention and tempers, 
is the great sin here signified. But he that says, Racha, 
or thou fool, must chiefly mean him that allows himself 
in deliberate, designed acts of scorn and contempt to- 
w'ards his brother, and in that temper speaks to him, and 
of him, in reproachful language. 

Now since it appears, that these tempers arc at the 
bottom the most rank uncharitableness, since no one can 
be guilty of them, but because he has not charity enough 
to pray to God for his brother; it cannot be thought 
hard or rigorous justice, that such tempers should en¬ 
danger the salvation of Christians. For who would 
think it hard, that a Christian cannot obtain the favour 
of God for himself, unless he reverence and esteem his 
brother Christian, as one that bears the image of God, 
as one for whom Christ died, as a member of Christ’s 
body, as a member of that holy society on earth, which^ 
is in union with that triumphant church in heaven ? Yet 
all these considerations, must be. forgot, all the.se glorious 


304 


A SERIOUS CALL TO A 


piivileges disregarded, before man can treat him that 
has them, as an object of scorn and contempt. So that 
to scorn or despise a brother, or, as our blessed Lord 
says, to call him Racha or fool, must be looked upon, as 
amongst the most odious, unjust, and guilty tempers, 
that can be supported in the heart of a Christian, and 
justly exduding him from all his hopes in the salvation 
ot Jesus Christ. For to despise one for whom Christ 
died, IS to be as contrary to Christ, as he that despises 
any thing tnat Christ has said, or done. 

If a Christian that had lived with the holy Virgin Ma- 
ly, should, after the death of our Lord, have taken any 

/^ ' towards our blessed 

Lord. For a true reverence for Christ must have forred 
nim to treat her with respect, who was so nearly related 

fn nil'll 


-wJnrct nils relation of the Virgin Mary to our 
blessed Lord, must have obliged all those that lived and 

“tce'of r o'"’® ‘he ven- 

Notv U tins be plain and obvious reasoning, if a con- 
^'ii'gin Mary must have been inter- 
pictcd a contempt of Christ, because of her near rela 
non to lum; then let the same reason she™ 
gieat impiety ol despising any brother. You^ cannot 

hirrd iiv 7o Cod^r ‘hat^tandsTn 

the Hoi) Trinity? ’ “ 

You would certainly think it a mighty imnietv to trea- 

“'atid^rerwiiimrb; 

the huger of God ; and can you think it a less immetv Z 
contemn and villify a brother, wlio is not onW Uie «‘ i 

you suppose it to he less profanines?to “a.K"^ 

ft.e upon,, brother, vvh» so belongs to God. that his very 


DEVOUT AND HOLY LITE. 


305 


fiiody IS to be considered as the temfile of the Holy Ghost^ 
I Cor. vi. 15. 

Had you despised and ill-treated the Virgin Mary, 
you had been chargeable with the impiety of despising 
her, of whom Christ was born. And if you scorn and 
despise a brother you are chargeable with the impiety 
of despising him, for whom Christ laid down his life. 
And now if this scornful temper is founded upon a dis-. 
regard of all these relations, which every Christian bears 
to God, and Christ, and the holy trinity, can you won¬ 
der, or think it hard, that a Christian who thus allows 
himself to despise a brother should be in danger of hell 


fire? 

Secondly^ It must here be observed, that though in 
these w'ords, whosoever shall say, thou fool, See. the 
great sin there contemned is an allowed temper of des¬ 
pising a brother ; yet we are also to believe, that all 
hasty expressions, and words of contempt, though 
spoken by surprise or accident, are by this text con¬ 
demned as great sins, and notorious breaches of Christian 
charity. 

They proceed from great want of Christian love and 
meekness, and call for great repentance. They are only 
little sins, when compared with habits and settled tem¬ 
pers of treating a brother despitefully, and fall as direct¬ 
ly under the condemnation of this text, as the grossest 
habits of uncharitableness. And the reason why we are 
always to apprehend great guilt, and call ourselves to a 
strict repentance for these hasty expressions of anger and 
contempt, is this; because they seldom are what they 
seem to be, that is mere starts of temper, that are occa¬ 
sioned purely by surprise or accident; but are much 
more our own proper acts, than we generally imagine. 

A man says a great many bitter things ; he presently 
forgives himself, because he supposes it was only the 
suddenness of the occasion, or something accidental, that 
carried him so far beyond himself. But he should con¬ 
sider that perhaps the accident, or surprise, was not the 
occasion of his angry expressions, but might only be the 
occasion of his angry temper shewing itseit Now as 
this is, generally speaking, the case, as all haughty, angry 
language generally proceeds from some secret habits of 
B b 2 




A SERiOtJS CAliL TO A 


pride in the heart; so people that are subject to it* 
though only now and then as accidents happen, have 
great reason to repent of more than their present beha¬ 
viour, to charge themselves with greater guilt than acci¬ 
dental passion, and to bring themselves to such penance 
and mortification, as is proper to destroy habits of a 
haughty spirit. And this may be the reason, why the 
text looks no farther than the outward language ; why 
It only says; whosoever shall say thou fool: because 

f? accidental use of 

haughty, disdainful language, but they whose hearts are 

Zm, S c " ““ “■•'•I 

But to return : intercession is not only the best nrbi 
trator of all differences, the best promoter of true friend¬ 
ship, the best cure and preservative against all unkind 
tempers, all angry and haughty passions, butis a”so of 
hearts."*'^ discover to us the true state of our own 

There are many tempers which we think lawful and 
innocent which we never suspect of any harm • which 

for abundance of ixcellem quSi‘tief.“° 

Slant at the service of the church o>' xuh 

more affected with it. His eharity’is so great th^t’^b ^ 

almost starves himself,to be able to give greater 

the poor. Yet Susurrus had a prodfgiou® foiling 1? 

with these great virtues. He had a mighty inr 

hear and discover all the defects and'InZ^v 

about him. You was welcome m ^“firmities of all 

any body, provided that you did not do iUAtlie stvleof 
enemy. He never disliked an evil snenU. 
his language was rough and passionafe If vou\"’''n 
but whisper any thing gently, thornrh :, " ^ 

in itself, Susui4us wfs"rea!i; l^releire if ' Wh ° 
Visits,youtrenei’allvhearhi*n-. vroic** . VVhen he 

the defects and failings of such a'nfiwhr ^“"’'’5''^® for 
ways letting you knovv how tender he f. of*,? 
rfhispeighbour; howloathtosay that whkhle^^ 


devout and holy LITE 
be"concel’led'!“"' 

Susurius had sucli a tender, compassionate manner 
of lelating things tiie most prejudicial to his neighbour 
that lie even seeined, both to liimselfand othersTto be 
excrusiiig a Christian charity, at the same time that he 
was indulging a whispering, evil speaking temper 

Susurrus once whispered to a particular friend in great 
secrecy, something too bad to be spoke of publicly. ^ He 

*^1!^ ?' i-'"*-' was, that it had not 

j t took wind, and that he had some hopes it might no* 
be true, though the suspicions were strong. His^fricnci 
made him this reply : you say, Susurrus,%hat you arc 

‘hat you have some 
hopes It may not prove true. Go home therefore to- 
y,oui closet, and pray to God for this man, in such a 
manner, and with such earnestness as you would pray 
for yoursell on the like occasion. ‘ ' 

Beseech God to interpose in his favour, to save him 
from false accusers, and bring all those to shame, who- 
by uncharitable whispers and secret stories, wound him, 
like those tuat stab in the dark. And when you have 
made this prayer, then you may, if you please, go teU 

the same secret to some other friend, diat you have- 
told to me. ^ 

amneu’ln^ “ffected with this rebuke, 

and lelt the force of it upon his conscience in as lively 
a manner, as if ho had seen the books opened at the day 
of j udgment All other arguments might have been re¬ 
sisted ; but It was impossible for Susurrus either to re¬ 
ject, or to follow this advice, without being equally selft 
condemned in the highest degree. From that time to this, 
he has constantly used himself to this method of inter¬ 
cession ; and his heart is so entirely changed by it, that 
he can now no more privately whisper aiiy thinev to the 
prejudice of another, than he can openly pray to God to 
do people hurt Whisperings and evil speakings now 
hurt his ears, like oaths and curses j and he has appoint¬ 
ed one day m the week, to be a day of penance as long 
as he lives, to humble himself befure God, in the sor- 
rowmi confession of his former guilt. Ir may well be 
wondered how a man of so ranch piety as Susurrus could 


308 


A SERIOUS CALL TO A 


be so long deceived in himself, as to live in such a stafe^ 
ol scandal and evil speaking, without suspecting himself 
to be guilty of it. But it was the tenderness and seem- 
ing compassion with which he heard and related eve¬ 
ry thing, that deceived both himself and others. This 
was a falseness of heart, which was only to be fully dis¬ 
covered, by the true charity of intercession. And if 
people of virtue, who think little harm of themselves^, 
as Susurius did, were often to try their spirit by such 
an they would often find themselves to be 

of all suspected. 

I ha\%ip^^^fore you, the many and great advantages- 
of interces^^^^You nave seen what a divine friendship 
it must n^eds neget amongst Christians ; how dear it 
would render all relations and neighbours to one another; 
how it tends to make clergymen, masters, and parents, 
exemplary and perfect in all the duties of their station ; 
how certainly it destroys all en\ 7 ^, spite and ill natured 
passions ; how speedily it reconciles all differences, and 
with what a piercing light it discovers to a man the true 
state of his heart. 

These considerations will, I hope, persuade you to’ 
make such intercession as is proper fbr your state, the 
constant, chief matter of your devotion at this hour of 
prayer. 


CHAP. XXIL 

"Recommending devotion at three o^clocks called in Scrip,- 
ture the ninth hour 0 / the day. The subject of pray¬ 
er at this hour., is resignation to the divine pleasure. 
The nature and duty of conformity to the will of God 
in all our actions and designs. 

I HAVE recommended certain subjects to be made 
the fixed and chief matter of your devotions, at all the 
hours «f prayer that have been already considered. As 
thanksgiving, and oblation of yourself fd God, at your 
first prayers in the morning; at nine, the great virtue of 
Christian humility is to be the chief part of yourjpetitions; 
at twelve, you are called upop to pray for all the graces 


309 


DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE, 
of universal love, and to raise it in your heart by such 


general and particular intercessions, as your own state, 
and relation to other people, seem more particularly to 
require of you. At this hour of the afternoon, you are 
desired to consider the necessity of resignation and con¬ 
formity to the will of God, and to make this great virtue 
the principal matter of your prayers 

There is nothing wise, or holy, or just, but the great 
will of God. 1 his is as strictly true in the most rigid 
i sense, as to say, that nothing is infinite and eternal but 
I God. I^I^o beings therefore, w’hcther in heaven or on 
J earth, can be wise, or holy, or just, but so far as they enn- 
( form to this will of God. It is confonnity to this will, 



, --Will, oy tne necessity 

of their nature : angels conform to his will by the per- 
iection of their nature. II therefore you would shew 


: yourself not to be a rebel and apostate from the order of 
. the creation, you must act like beings both above and 
below you ; it must be the great desire of your soul, that 
I God s will may be done by you on earth, as it is done 
in heaven. It must be the settled purpose and intention 
ot your heart, to will nothing, design nothing, do noth- 
ing, but so far as you have reason to believe, that it is 
1 the will of God, that you should so desire, design, and 
. do. It is as just and necessary to live in this state of 
! heart, to think thus of God and yourself, as to think that 
yon have any dependence upon him. And it is as P-reat 
a rcbciiio<n against God, to think that your will may'ever 
differ from ins, as to tliink that you iiave not received the 
power of willing from him. You are therefore to con- 
I sider yourself as a being, that has no other business in 
! the world, but to be that which Goa requires you to be ; 
to have no tempers, no lules of your own, to seek no 
self-designs or self-ends, but to fill some place, and act 
somp part in strict conformity^ and thankful resignation 




A SERIOUS CALL TO A 


aio 

to the divine pleasure. To think that you are your own, 

or at your own disposal, is as absurd as to think that you 

created, and can preserve yourself. It is as plain and 

necessaiy a first principle, to believe vouare thus God’s, 

tnat you thus belonj^ to him, and are to act and suffer 

all inatnankful resignation to his pleasure, as to believe, 

that in him you live, and move, and have your being. 

designation to tlie divine will, signifies a cheerful an- 

probauon and thankful acceptance of every thing that 

c mes from Goc. It is not enough patiently to submit, 

but we must thankfully receive, and fully approve of 

DenZto^\?f ’ order of God’s providence hap- 

naiient bin wh.T* ^^y be 

patient, but what 13 as good and strong a reason whv we 

?vise^ana®g\fe<?^'^^^^ «nder the hands^ot a 

any thing to us, but what certa]nly^\eMc\5”?S^te 
ft; it would not be enough to be patient, and abstain 
from murmuring against such a physician ; but it would 
be as great a breach of duty and gratitude to him, not 
to be pleased and thankful for what he did, as it would 
be to murmur at him. Now this is our true state with 
relation to God; we cannot be said so much as to be¬ 
lieve in him, unless we believe him to be of infinite wds-. 
dom. Every argument therefore for patience under his 
disposal of us, is as strong an argument for approbation 
and thankfulness for every thing that he does to us. And 
there needs no more to dispose us to this gratitude to¬ 
wards God, than a full belief in him, that he is this be¬ 
ing of infinite wisdom, love, and goodness. Do but as¬ 
sent to this truth, in the same manner as you assent to 
things of which you have no doubt, and then you will 
cheerfully approve of every thing, that God has already 
approved for you. For as you cannot possibly be pleased 
witn the behaviour of any person towards you, but be¬ 
cause it is for your good, is wise in itself, and the effect 
of his love and goodness towards you ; so ^vhen you arc 
satisfied that God does not only do that which is wise, 
and good, and kind, but that which is the effect of an 
infinite wisdom and love in the care of you; it will be 
as necessary, whilst you have this faith, to be thankful 
and be pleased with every thing which God chooses for 


‘DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 


311 


you, as to -wish your own happiness. Whenever there¬ 
fore you find yourself disposed to uneasiness, or mur¬ 
muring at any thing, that is the effect of God*s providence 
over you, you must look upon yourself as denying either 
the wisdom or goodness of God. For e\^ery complaint 
necessarily supposes this. You would never complain 
of your neighbour, but that you suppose you can show 
cither his unv/ise, unjust, or unkind behaviour towards 
you. Now every murmuring, impatient reflection un¬ 
der the providence of God, is the same accusation of 
God. A complaint always supposes ill usage. 

Hence also you may see the great necessity and piety 
of this thankful state of heart, because the want of it im¬ 
plies an accusation of God’s want either of wisdom, or 
goodness, in his disposal of Us. It is not therefore any 
high degree of perfection, founded in any uncommon 
nicety of thinking, or refined notions, but a plain prin¬ 
ciple, founded in this plain belief, that God is a being of 
infinite wisdom and goodness. Now this resignation to 
the divine will, may be considered in two respects; first, 
as it signifies a thankful approbation of God’s general 
providence over the world : secondly, as it signifies a 
thankful acceptance of his particular providence over us. 

First, every man is by the law of his creation, by the 
first article of his creed, obliged to consent to, and ac¬ 
knowledge the wisdom and goodness of God, in his gen¬ 
eral providence over the whole world. He is to believe 
that it is the effect of God’s great wisdom and goodness, 
that the world itself was formed at such a particular 
time, and in such a manner. That the general order 
of nature, the whole frame of things, is contrived and 
formed in the best manner. He is to believe that God’s 
providence overstates and kingdoms, times and seasons, 
is all for the best. That the revolutions of state, and 
changes of empire, the rise and fall of monarchies, per¬ 
secutions, wars, famines and plagues, are all permitted, 
and conducted by God’s providence, to the general good 
of man in this state of trial. A good man is to believe 
all this, with the same fulness of assent, as he believes 
that God is in every place, though he neither sees, nor 
can comprehend the manner of his presence. This is 


'312 


A SERIOUS CALL TO A 


noble magnificence of thought, a true religious great¬ 
ness of mind, to be thus affected with oSd’s general 
providence, admiring and magnifying his wisdom in all 

H ”7!': ™“'™uring at the course of the world, or 

the state of things, but looking upon all around, at hea¬ 
ven and earth, as a pleased spectator; and adorning that 

and goodnesf wisdom 

libertt ^7 Pfopletoallowthemselves great 

hbeity in finding fault with such tilings, as have only 
God for their cause. Every one think! he m7y lustiv 
My, wiiat a wretched, abominable climate he Uvis m 
This man rs frequently telling you, what a dismal, curs- 

ther Ai'nks intolerable seasons we have. Ano- 

thei thinks he has very little to thank God for, that it is 
hardly worth Ins while to live in a world so full of 
changes and revolutions. But these are temners of 
great impiety, and shew that religion has not yet hs Lat 

Lch imterl""^" indeed 

much better to murmur at the course of the world or 

t.ie state of t.iings, than to murmur at providence • to 

o? atd". but ‘i-n to complain 

or vtoci, but it tuese have no other cause hut 

tlut on ^ P-‘- dislincdon to ^a " 

causJ:udXeTt!fr:??i!nn 

How sacred the whole frame of the world is how all 
things are to be considered as God’s and referred to him 
IS fully taught by our blessed Lord in the case of oml! •’ 
■But I ,ay unto you, owear not at alt: neiZ-T hu^' 
■aen,for it is God’s throne ■ nor h„ t, 

of thy Lir •; r tnlntr "God’s"‘'‘‘‘""“^ 

-ing,thou shalt not sweTby ttUn^a ^^or thy: 


liKV'OUT AND HOLY LIFE r* 

iiair, because these things arc God’s and in a certain 
manner belong to liim ; is it not exactly the same rea 

threfrth the s't’r at the seasons oi 

the earth, the states of cities, and the chanite of times 

turn foi their author, are directed and governed by him 
to suen ends, as are most suitable to his wise providence? 

If you think you can murmur at the state of thine-s 
without murmuring at providence, or complain of sea¬ 
sons without complaining of God; hear whafour blessed 
hovd says farther upon oaths ; mo.o .halt ..aear t '/« 
altar yaearelh by it, and by alltUng. thereon : andl>ho. 
so swear by the tem/ile, sweareth by him that dwel- 

leth theuin : and he that shall smear by heaven swear 

Um fxhf "r ‘hatsitteth thereon, 

iMatt. xxiu. 20. Now does not this scripture plainly 

oblige us to reason after this manner : Who<o niurinurs 
at the course of the world, murmurs at God that gov¬ 
erns the course of the world. Whoso repines at seasons 
and weather, and speaks impatiently of times and events 
repines and speaketh impatiently of God, who is the 
sole Lord and governor of times, seasons and event- 
As therefore when wc think of God himself, we are to 
have no sentiments but of jiraisc and thanksgivin'>- • so 
wnen we look at those things w hich are under the di 
rection of God, and governed by his providence, we are 
to receive them with the .same tempers of praise and 
gratitude. And though wc are not to think all things 
right, and jiist, and lawful, which the providence of God 
permits; for then nothing could be unjust, because 
nothing IS witnout his permission ; yet we must adore 
Cfod in tiie greatest public calamities, the most a-rievou- 
persecutions, as things that are sufFercfl by God, like 
plagues ami famines, for ends suitable to his wisdom 
and glory^ in the government of the world. 

There is nothing more suitable to the piety of a rea 
sonablc creature, or the spirit of a Christian, than thus 
to approve, admire and glorify God in all the acts of 
his general providence : considering the whole world as 
lus particular family, and all events as directed by Ins 
wisdom. ^ 

7’:very one seems to consent to this, as an undemahle 
C c 


3I4 


A SERIOUS CALL TO A 


that all things must be as God pleases ; and is not 
this enough to make every man pleased with them him¬ 
self ? And how can a man be a peevish complainer of 
anything that is the elfQct. of providence but by shevv- 
ing that his own self-will and self-wisdom is of more 
weight with him, than the will and wisdom of God ? 
And what can religion be said to have done for a man, 
whose heart is in this state ? 

For if he cannot thank and praise God, as well in ca¬ 
lamities and sufferings, as in prosperity and happiness, 
he is as far from the piety of a Christian, as he that only 
loves them that love him, is from the charity of a Chris¬ 
tian. For to thank God only for such things as you like: 
is no more a proper act of piety, than to believe only 
what you see, is an act of faith. 

Resignation and thanksgiving to God are only acts of 
piety, when they are acts of faith, trust and confidence 
in the divine goodness. The faith of Abraham was an 
act of true piety, because it stopped at no difficulties, was 
not altered or lessened by any human appearances. It 
first of all carried him, against all shew of happiness, 
from his own kindred and country, into a strange land, 
not knowing whither he went. It afterwards made him 
against all appearance of nature, when his body was dead^ 
when he was about an hundred years oid^ depend upon 
the promise of God being fully persuaded that what God 
had promised^ he was able to perform. It was this same 
faith, that against so many pleas of nature, so many appear¬ 
ances of reason, prevailed upon him to offer up Isaac __ 

accounting that God was able to raise him up from the 
dead. Heb. xi. 17, 19. Now this faith is the true pattern 
of Christian resignation to the divine pleasure ; you are 
to thank and praise God, not only for things agreeable 
to you, that have the appearance of happiness and com¬ 
fort ; but when you are, like Abraham, called from all 
appearance of comfort, to be a pilgrim in a strange land, 
to part with an only son ; being as fully persuaded of the 
divine goodness in all things that happen to you, as 
Abraham was of the divine promise, when there was the 
least appearance of its being performed. 

This is true Christian resignation to God, which re¬ 
quires no more to the support of it, than such a plain as- 


DEVOUT AND HOLY LITE. 


.‘)'J j 

durance oi' the goodness of God, as Abral;am had of his 
veracit}’. And it you ask yoursclt, 'vvhat greater reason 
Abraham had to depend upon the divine'veracity, than 
jou have to depend upon the divine goodness, you will 
find that none can be given. You cannot therefore look 
upon this as an unnecessary, high pitch of perfec¬ 
tion, since the Avant of it implies the want, not of any 
)>igh notions, but of a plain and ordinary faith in the 
Uiost certain doctrines both of natural and revealed re¬ 
ligion. 

Thus much concerning resignation to the divine will, 
as it signifies a thankful approbation of God’s general 
providence; it is now to be considered, as it signifies 
a thankful acceptance of God’s particular providence 
over us. 

Every man is to consider himself as a particular object 
of God's providence ; under the same care and protection 
of God, as if the world had been made for him alone. 
It is not by chance that any man is born at such a time, 
of such parents, and in such place and condition. It is 
as certain, that every soul comes into the body at such a 
time, and in such circumstances,by the express dcsign- 
ment of God, according to some purposes of his will, and 
for some particular ends ; this is as certain, as that it is 
by the express designment of God, that some beings 
arc angels and otliers are men. It is as much by the 
counsel and eternal purpose of God, that you should be 
born in your particular state, and that Isaac should be 
the son of Abraham, as that Gabriel should be an angel, 
and Isaac a man. The scripture assures us, that it ivas 
by divine appointment, that our blessed Saviour was born 
at Bethlehem, and at such a time. Now although it was 
owing to the dignity of his person and the great impor¬ 
tance of his birth, that thus much of the divine counsel 
was declared to the world concerning the time and man¬ 
ner of it; yet we are as sure from the same scriptures, 
that the time and manner of every man’s coming into 
tl'iC world, is according to some eternal purposes and 
direction of divine providence, and in such time and 
place, and circumstances, as are directed and governed 
by God for particular ends of his wisdom and goodness, 
'f'his wc are as certain of from plain revelation, as we 


A SERIOUS CALL TO A 


I If) 


can be of any thing. For if we are told, that not a sfiar-^ 
ro-Mfalleth to the ground withcut our heavenly Father ; 
can any thing more strongly teach us, that much greater 
beings, such as human souls, come not into the world 
without the care and direction of our heavenly Father ! 
Ifitissaid, the very hairs of your head are ail numbered ; 
3s it not to_ leach us, tliat nothing, not the smallest 
things imaginable, hap])en to us by chance ? But if the 
smallest things we can conceive, arc declared to be under 
the divine direction, need we, or can we be more plainly 
taught, that the greatest things of life, such as the man¬ 
ner of our coming into the world, our parents, the time, 
and other circumstances of our birth and condition, arc 
all according to tlie eternal purposes, direction and ap¬ 
pointment of divine providence ? ^ 

Wlien the disciples put this question to our blessed 
I,ord, concerning the blind man, saying, Mauer, loho did 
!nn,thi!t man, or his parents, that he mas born blind ? He 
that was the eternal wisdom of God made this answer, 
A either hath this man sinned, nor his parents j but that 
the morks ofGodshouldbe made manifest in him, John ix 
•2, 3. Plainly declaring, that the particular circumstances 
of every njan’s birth, the body that he receives, and tl.e 
condition and state of life into which he is born, are an- 
pomted by a secret providence,which directs all thines to 

theirparticularUmcsandseasons,andmannerofcxistmicc, 

that the wisdom and works of God may be maoc mani- 
test in them all. As therefore it is thus certain, that we 
are what we are, as to birth, time, and condition of en¬ 
tering into the world ; since all that is particular in our 
state, IS the effect of God’s particular providence over 
us, and intended for some particular ends both of his 
glory, and our own happiness, we are', by the greatest 
obligations of gratitude called upon to conform and re- 
sign our will to the will of God in all these respects ; 
thankfully approving and accepting every thing that is 

C one n, iT "r '‘fglorifying his name 
for oui blit 1 of such parents, and in such circumstances 

of state and condition ; being fully assured, that it was 
lor some reasons of infiniie wisdom and goodness, tha“t 
vve were so boi-n into such particular states of life. If 
Hie man aboveraeutioned, was born blind, that ti-e 


T^BVOUT AISD HOLY LIFE 


Sir 

Works of God might be manifested in him, had he not 
great reason to praise God, for appointing him in such 
a particular manner, to be the instrument of his glory ? 
And if one person is born here, and another there ; if 
one falls amongst riches, and another into poverty; if 
one receives his flesh and blood from these parents, and 
another from those, for as particular ends, as the man was 
born blind ; have not all people the greatest reason to 
bless God, and to be thankful for their particular state 
and condition, because all that is particular in it, is as 
directly intended for the glory of God, and their own 
good, as the particular blindness of that man, who was so 
born, that the works of God might be manifested in him I 

How noble an idea does this give us of the divine om¬ 
niscience presiding over the whole world, and governing 
such a long chain and combination of seeming accidents 
and chances, to the common and particular advantages 
of all beings ? So that all persons, in such a wonderful 
variety of causes, accidents and events, should all fall 
into such particular states, as were foreseen, and fore¬ 
ordained to their best advantage, and so as to be most 
serviceable to the wise and glorious ends of God’s gov¬ 
ernment of all the world. 

Had you been any thing else than what you are, you 
had, all things considered, been less wisely provided for 
than you are now ; you had wanted some circumstances 
and conditions, that are best fitted to make you happy 
yourself, and serviceable to the glory of God. Could you 
see all that which God sees, all that happy chain of causes 
and motives which are to move and invite you to a right 
course of life, you w'ould see something to make you like 
that state you are in, as fitter for you than any other. 
}>ut as you cannot sec this, so it is here that your Chris¬ 
tian faith and trust in God, is to exercise itself, and ren¬ 
der you as grateful and thankful for the happiness of 
your state, as if you saw every thing that contributes to 
it with your own eyes. But now if this is the case of 
every man in the world, thus blessed with some particu¬ 
lar state that is most convenient lor him, how reasonable 
is it for every man to will that which God has already 
wdlled for him ? And by a pious faith and trust in the 
divine goodness, thankfully adore and n^agnify that 


A SERIOUS CALL TO A 


wise providence, which he is sure has made the best 
choice for him of those things, which he could not choose 
for himself. 

Every uneasiness at our oWh state, is founded upon 
comparing it with that of other people. Which is full as 
Unreasonable', as if a man in dropsy should be angry at 
those that prescribe different things to him, from those 
which are precribed to people in health. For all the dif¬ 
ferent states of life are like the different states of diseases, 
what is a remedy to one man in his state, may be poison 
to another. So that to mtirmur because you are not as 
some others are, is as if a man in one disease should mur¬ 
mur that he is not treated like him that is in another. 
Whereas if he was to have his will, he would be killed 
by that, which will prove the cure of another. It is just 
thus in the various conditions of life j if you give yourself 
up to uneasiness, or complain at any thing in your state, 
you may, for ought you know, be so ungrateful to God, 
as to murmur at that very thing, which is to prove the 
cause of your salvation. Had you it in your power to get 
that which you think it so grievous to want, it might 
perhaps be that very thing, which of all others would 
most expose you to eternal damnation. So that whether 
;ve consider the infinite goodness of God, that cannot 
choose amiss for us, or our own great ignorance of what 
■ is most advantageous to us, there can be nothing so rea¬ 
sonable and pious, as to have no will but that of God’s, 
and desire nothing for ourselves, in our persons, our 
state and condition, but that which the good providence 
of God appoints us. Farther, as the good providence 
of God thus introduces us into the world, into such 
states and conditions of life, as are most convenient for 
us, so the same unerring wisdom orders all events, and 
changes, in the whole course of our lives, in such a 
manner, as to render them the fittest means to exercise 
and improve our virtue. Nothing hurts us, nothing 
destroys us, but the ill use of that liberty, with which 
God has entrusted us. 

We are as sure that nothing happens to us by chance, 
as that the world itself was not made by chance, we are 
as certain that all things happen and work together for 
our good, as that God is goodness itself. So that a man 


liEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 


31^ 

fias as mu-ch reason to will every thing that happens to 
him; because God wills it, as to think that is wisest, 
which is directed by infinite wisdom. This is not cheat¬ 
ing or soothing ourselves into any false content, or im¬ 
aginary happiness ; but is a satisfaction grounded upon 
as great a certainty, as the being and attri'mtes of God. 
For if we are right in believing God to act over us w ith 
infinite wisdom and goodness, we cannot carry our no¬ 
tions of conformity and resignation to the divine wdll too 
high ; nor can we ever be deceived, by thinking that to 
be best for us, which God has brought upon us. For 
the providence of God is not more concerned in the 
government of night and day, and the variety of seasons, 
t han in the common course of events, that seem most to 
depend upon the mere wills of men. So that it is as 
strictly light, to look upon all worldly accidents and 
changes, all the various turns and alterations in your 
own life, to be as truly the effects of divine providence, 
as the rising and setting of the sun, or the alteration of 
the seasons of the year. As you are therefore always to 
adore the wisdom of God in the direction of these things; 
so it is the same reasonable duty, always to magnify God, 
as an equal director of every thing that happens to you 
in the course ol your own life. This holy resignation 
and conformity of your will to the will of God, being so 
much the true state of piety, I hope you will think it 
proper to make this hour of prayer, a constant season of 
applying to God for so great a gift. That by thus con¬ 
stantly praying for it, your heart may be habitually dis¬ 
posed towards it, and always in a state of readiness (o 
look at every, thing as God’s, and to consider him in 
every thing ; that so every thing that befalls you, may be 
received in the spirit of piety, and made a means of ex¬ 
ercising some virtue. 

There is nothing that so powerfully governs the heart, 
that so strongly excites us to wise and reasonable actions, 
as a true sense of God’s presence. 

But as we cannot see, or apprehend the essence of 
God, so nothing will so constantly keep us under a lively 
sense of the presence of God, as this holy resignation, 
which attributes every thing to him, and receives every 
thing as from him. 


C^O A SERIOUS CALL TO A 

Could we see a miracle from God, how would ouT* 
thoughts be affected with an holy awe and veneration of 
his presence ? 13ut if we consider every thing as God’s 
doing, either by order or permission, we shall then be 
affected with common things, as they would be who saw 
a miracle. For as there is nothing to affect you in a 
miracle, but as it is the action of God, and bespeaks his 
presence ; so wlien you consider God, as acting in all 
tilings, and all events, then all things wdll become vene¬ 
rable to you, like miracles, and fill you with the same 
awful sentiments of the divine presence. Now vcu must 
not reserve the exercise of this pious temper, to any 
particular times or occasions, or fancy how resigned you 
will be to God, if such or such trials should happen. 
For this is amusing yourself with the notion or idea of 
resignation instead of the virtue itself. Do not therefore 
please yourself with thinking how piously you would 
act and submit to God, in a plague, a famine, or per¬ 
secution ; but be intent upon the perfection of the 
present day ; and be assured, that the best way of shew¬ 
ing a true zeal, is to make little things the occasions of 
great piety. 

Begin therefore in the smallest matters, and most or¬ 
dinary occasions, and accustom your mind to the daily 
exercise of this pious temper, in the lowest occurrences 
of life. And when a contempt, an affront, a little inju- • 
ry, loss, or disappointment, or the smallest events of 
every day, continually raise your mind to God in proper 
acts of resignation, then you may justly hope, that you 
shall be numbered amongst those that are resigned and 
thankful to God in the greatest trials and aJhictions. 


i 


DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE, 


351 - 


CHAP, XXIIL 

Of evnivig' prayer. Of the nature and necessity of ex- 
umutation. //ow nve are to be particular in the ccn^ 
fession ^'ail our sins, JIqvj nve are to fill our minds 
udth a just horror and dread of all sin, 

, I AM now come to six o’clock in the eveninp'^ 
which, according to the scri]>ture account, is called tl'^e 
tv/elfth, or last hour of the day. This is a time so 
proper for devotion, that I suppose nothing need be said 
to recommend it as a season ol prayer, to all people that 
profess any regard to piety. As the labour and action 
cf every state of life is gcnei ally over at this hour, so 
this IS the proper time for every one to call himself to 
account, and review alibis behaviour, from the first ac¬ 
tion of the day. The necessity of this examination, is 
founded upon the necessity of repentance. For if it be 
necessary to repent of all cur sins, if the guilt cf unre¬ 
pented sins still continue upon us, then it is necessary 
not only that our sins, but the particular circumstances 
and aggravations of them, be known and recollected, and 
brought to repentance. The scripture saith, If we con^ 
fess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us cur sins, 
and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness, 1 John, i. 9 
Which is as much as to say, that then only our sins are 
forgiven, and we cleansed from the guilt and unrigh¬ 
teousness of them, when they arc thus confessed and 
rejiented of. 

There seems therefore tobethe greatest necessity, that 
all our daily actions be constantly observed, and brought 
to account, lest by a negligence, we load ourselves with 
the guilt of unrepented sins. This examination therefore 
of ourselves every evening, is notonlytobe considered as 
a commendable rule, and fit for a wise man to observe ; 
but as something thatis as necessary as a daily confession 
and repentance of our sins ; because this daily repentance. 


322 


A SERIOUS CALE TO A 


IS of very little significancy, and loses all its chief bene- 
lit, unless It be a particular confession and repentance of 
the sins of that oay. Tins examination is necessary to 
repentance m, the same manner as time is necessary ^ 
you cannot repent or express your sorrow, unless you 
alIo\\ some time for it: nor can you l epent, but so'far 
as you know what it is that you are repenting of. So 
to when It IS said, that it is necessary to examine and 
call )our acucns to account; it is only saying, that it 
IS necessary to know what, and how many tidngs^ 
are to repent ol. ^ ^ • 

. yourself to con¬ 

fess yourseli a sinner lu general, and asked forgiveness in 
he grt^is, tvitkout any particular remembranfe, or con- 
idion foi tlie particular sms of that day. And bv this 

^ 00 ^- 7 /°" “r ‘hat the same ^hort! 

g°* tonfession ol sm in general, is a sufficient 
gen age for every day. Suppose anolher person 
Sggd ho a that a confession of ou‘r sins in genera once 

"s weir'in ^tifficient, and thahtTas 

as well to confess the sms of seven davs together, as to 
-i-v e a liarlicuiar repentance at the end of fvery day 

"“^h-.entiysce the unreasonableness and 

m.p.tiy ol tnis opimon, and that yon tliink it is easv 
gnougb to s.iew the danger and folly ofit. Vet you car^ 

tw at v“fl bf ^tich an opinkm, but 

^'hat u Ji he as gooci an argument against such a daily 

. i-umin(e, as r.oes not call tlm particular sins of that 
nay vo a strict account. For as you can bring no exnrcss 
text Ol scnpiure against such an opinion, but must take 
a 1 your argniincnts Irom the natm-e of repentance, and 
the necessity ot a particular repentarxe for iiaiticuiar 
sm.^; so every argument of that kind must as fully prove 
the necessity of being very parliculai- in our repentance 
o. Uie sms ol every day. Since nctJiing can be iustiy 
:vaia against leaving the sms of the whole week to be re- 
pented lor in the gross, but what may as justly be said 
-igaiitbt a dully repentance, which considers the sins of 
tnat day only in the gross. 

WoulcI you (ell such a mtm, that a daily confession 
was necessary to keep up an abhorrence of sin, that the 
mmd would grow hardened and senseless of tl,e <a,iii yj 


DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 


;2. 


am without it? And is not this as good a reason for re¬ 
quiring that your daily repentance be very express and 
particular for your daily sins ? For if confession is to 
raise an abhorrence of sin, surely that confession which 
considers and lays open your particular sins, that brings 
them to light with all their circumstances and aggrava¬ 
tions, that requires a particular sorrowful acknowledg¬ 
ment of every sin, must in a much greater degree fill 
the mind with an abhorrence of sin, than that which only 
in one and the same form of words, confesses you only 
to be a sinner in general. For as .this is nothing but 
what the greatest saint may justly say of himself, so the 
daily repeating of only such a confession, has, nothing in 
it to make you truly ashamed of your own way of life. 

Again : Must you not tell such a man, that by leaving 
hirnseif to such a weekly, general confession, he would 
be in great danger ot forgetting a great many of his sins ? 
But is there any sense or force in this argument, unless 
you suppose that our sins are all to be remembered, and 
brought to a particular repentance ? And is it not as 
necessary, that our particular sins be not forgotten, but 
particularly remembered in your daily, as in a repen¬ 
tance at any other time ? So that every argument for 
a daily confession and repentance, is the same argument 
for the confession and repentance of the particular sins 
of every day. Because daily confession has no other rea¬ 
son or necessity, but oui’tdailysins; and therefore is noth¬ 
ing of what it should be, but so far as it is repentance and 
sorrowful acknowledgment of the sins of the day. 

You would, I suppose, think yourself chargeable with 
great impiety, if you was to go to bed without confes¬ 
sing yourself to be a sinner, and asking pardon of God ; 
you would not think it sufficient that you did so yester¬ 
day, and yet if without any regard to the present day, 
you only repeat the same form of words that you used 
yesterday, the sins of the present may justly be looked 
upon to have had no repentance. For if the sins of the 
present day require a new confes ion, it must be such a 
new confession as is proper to itself. For it is the state 
and condition of every day, that is to deter mi’ie the state 
and manner of your repentance in the evening; other¬ 
wise the same general form of words is rather an empty 


324 


A SERIOUS GALL TO A 


formality, that has the appearance of a duty j than suci* 
a true performance of it, as is necessary to make it truly 
useful to you. 

Let it be supposed, that on a certain day you have 
been guilty of these sins ; that you have told a vain lie 
upon yourself, ascribing something falsely to yourself 
through pride ; that you have been guilty of detraction, 
and indulged yourself in some degree of intemperance. 
Let it be supposed, that on the next day you have lived 
in a contrary manner ; that you have neglected no duty 
of devotion, and been the rest of the day innocently em¬ 
ployed in your proper business. Let it be supposed, 
that on the evening of botn these days you only use the 
same confession in general, considering it rather as a 
duty that is to be performed every night, than as a re¬ 
pentance that is to be suited to the particular state of tho 
day.^ Can it with any reason be said, that each day has 
had its proper repentance ? Is it not as good sense to 
say, there is no difference in the guilt of these days, as 
to say that there need be no different repentance at the 
end of them ? Or how can each of them have its proper 
repentance, but by its having a repentance as large and 
extensive, and particular, as the guilt of each day ? 

Again : Let it be supposed, that in that day, - when 
you had been guilty of the three notorious sins above- 
.mentioned, that in your evening repentance, you • had 
only called one of them to mind ; Is it not plain, that 
the other two are unrepented of, and that therefore their 
guilt still abides upon you ? So that you are then in 
the state of him who commits himself to the night with¬ 
out the repentance for such a day, as had betrayed him 
into two such great sins. Now these are not needless 
particulars, or such scrupulous niceties, as a man need 
not trouble himself about; but are such plain truths, as 
essentially concern the very life of piety. For if repen¬ 
tance is necessary, it is full as necessary that it miglit be 
rightly performed, and in due manner. And I have 
entered into all these particulars, only to shew you in 
the plainest manner, that examination, and a careful re¬ 
view of all the actions of the day, is not only to be look¬ 
ed upon as a good rule, but as something as necessary as 
renentanrp. f ^ 


DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFR, 




If a man IS to account for his expenses at nit-ht, can 
It be thought a needless exactness in him, to take notice 
of every particular expense in the day ? And if a man is 
to repent of his sms at night, can it be thought too great 
a piece of scrupulosity in him, to know and call to mind 
what sins he is to repent of? 

Farther: 1 hough it should be granted, that a cofi- 
fession in general be a sufficient repentance for the end 
ot such days, as have only the unavoidable frailties of 
our nature to lament; yet even this fully proves the 
absolute necessity of this self examination : for without 
this exanaination, who can know that hehas gone through 
any day in this manner ? ^ 

Again An evening repentance, which thus brings 
all the actions of the day to account, is not only neces¬ 
sary to wipe off the guilt of sin, but is also the n^ost cer¬ 
tain way to amend and perfect our lives. For it is onlv 
such a repentance as this, that touches the heart, awa- 
kens tne conscience, and leaves an horror and detestation 
of sin upon the mind. For instance : if it should hap¬ 
pen that upon any particular evening, all that you could 
charge yourself with should be this, viz. a hasty, negli¬ 
gent performance of your devotions, or too much time 
spent in an impertinent conversation ; if the unreasona¬ 
bleness of these things were fully reflected upon, and 
acknowledged; if you was then to condemn yourself 
before God for them, and implore his pardon and assist- 
ing grace, what could be so likely a means to prevent 
your falling into the same faults the next day ? Or if 
you should fall into them again the next day ; yet if 
they were again brought to the same examination and 
condemnation in the presence of God, their happening 
again would be such a proof to you of your own folly 
and weakness, would cause suen a pain and remorse in 
your mind, and nil you with such shame and confusion 
at yourself, as would in all probability make you exceed¬ 
ingly desirous of greater perfection. 

Now in the case of repeated sins, this would be the 
certain benefit that we shoiiid receive from this exami¬ 
nation and confession; the mind would thereby be made 
humble, full of sorrow and deep compunction, and by 
degrees forced into amendment. 

D d 



A SERIOUS CALL TO A 


Whereas a formal, general (Tonfession, that is only 
‘considered as an evening duty, that overlooks the parti¬ 
cular mistakes of the day, and is the same whether the 
day be spent ill or well, has little or no effect upon the 
mind; a man may use such a daily confession, and yet 
go on sinning and confessing all his life, without any re¬ 
morse of mind, or true desire of amendment. For if 
your own particular sins are left out of your confession, 
your confessing of sin in general has no more effect upon 
your mind, than if you had only confessed that all men 
in general are sinners. And there is nothing in any 
confession to shew that it is yours, but so far as it is a 
self-accusation, not of sin in general, or such as is com¬ 
mon to all others, but of such particular sins, as are your 
own proper shame and reproach 

No other confession, but such as thus discovers and 
accuses your own particular guilt, can be an act of true 
sorrow or real concern at your own condition. And a 
confession that is without this sorrow and compunction 
of heart has nothing in it, either to atone for past sins, 
or to produce in us any true reformation and amend¬ 
ment of life. 

To proceed ; in order to make this examination still 
further beneficial, every man should oblige himself to a 
certdin method in it. As every man has something 
particular in his nature, stronger inclinations to some 
vices than others, some infirmities that stick closer to 
hirn, and are harder to be conquered than others ; and 
as it is as easy for every man to know this of himself, as 
to know wdiom he likes, or dislikes ; so it is highly ne¬ 
cessary, that these particularities of our natures and 
tempers should never escape a severe trial at our evening 
repentance ; I say a severe trial, because nothing but a 
rigorous severity against these natural tempers, is suffi¬ 
cient to conquer them. 

They are the right eyes that are not to be spared ; 
but to be plucked out and cast from us. For as they are 
the infirmities of nature, so they have the strength of na¬ 
ture, and must be treated with great opposition, or they 
will soon be too strong for us. He therefore, who knows 
himself most of all subject to anger and passion, must be 
very exact and constant in his examination of this tern 


4 


DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 


327 


per every evening. He must find out every slip, that 
he has made of that kind, whether in thought, or word, 
or action ; he must shame, and reproach, and accuse 
himself before God, for every thing that he has said or 
done in obedience to his passion. He must no more al¬ 
low himself to forget the examination of this temper, than 
to fovget his whole prayers. 

Again: If you find that vanity is your prevailing 
temper, that is always putting you upon the adornmer]t 
of your person, and catching every thing that compli- 
mcius or flatters your abilities, never spare or forget 
this temper in your evening examination ; but confess 
to God every vanity of tjiought, or word, or action, that 
you have been guilty of, and put yourself to all the 
shame and confusion for it that you can. In this man¬ 
ner should all people act Muth regard to their chief frail¬ 
ty, to which their nature most inclines them. And 
though it should not immediately do all that they would 
wish, yet by constant practice it would certainly in a 
short time produce its desired efiect. 

Farther : As all states and employments of life havQ 
their particular dangers and temptations, and expose 
people more to some sins than others, so every man 
that wishes his own improvement, should make it a ne¬ 
cessary part of his evening examination, to consider how 
he has avoided, or fallen into such sins as are most com¬ 
mon to his state of life. For as our business and condition 
of life has great power over us, so nothing but such watch¬ 
fulness as this, can secure us from those temptations 
to which it daily exposes us. The poor man, from his 
condition of life, is always in danger of repining and un¬ 
easiness ; the rich man is most exposed to sensuality and 
indulgence ; the tradesman to lying and unreasonable 
gains; the scholar to pride and vanity ; so that in every 
state of life, a man should always, in his examination of 
himself, have a strict eye upon those faults, to which his 
state of life most of all exposes him. 

Again: As it is reasonable to suppose, that every good 
man has entered into, or at least proposed to himself, 
some method of holy living, and set himself some such 
rules to observe, as are not common to other people, and 
onl^ known to himself; so it should be a constant part 




A SERIOUS CALL TO A 


of his night recollection, to examine Ikdw and in what 
degree, he has observed them, and to reproach himself 
before God, for every neglect of them. By rules, I here 
mean, such rules as relate to the well- ordering of our 
time, and the business of our common life. Such rules 
as prescribe a certain order to all that we are to do, our 
business, devotion, mortifications, readings, retirements, 
conversation, meals, refreshments, sleep and the like 
Now as good rules relating to all these things, are cerl 
tain means of great improvement, and such as all se- 
nous Christians must needs propose to themselves, so 
hey will hardly ever be observed to any purpose, unless 
they are made the constant subject of our evening- ex¬ 
amination. ‘ 

Lastly, you are not to content yourself with a hastv 
general review of the day, but you must enter upon it 
wi.h deliberation ; begin with the first action of the dav, 
and proceed step by step, through every particular niatl 
ter that you have been concerned in, and so let no time. 
p.ace or action be overlooked. An examination thus 
managed, will in a little time make you as different from 
yourself, as a wise man is different from an ideot. It 
will give you such a newness of mind, such a spirit of 
wisdom, and desire of perfection, as you was an entire 
stranger to before. Thus much cou.cerning the ev^r! 
iijg examinaticu. 

I proceed now to lay before you such consideration-., 
as may fill your mind with a just dread and horror of a'l 
sill, and he.p you to confess your own in the most nas. 
sionate continion, and sorrow of heart. Consider first 
how othous all sm is to God, what a mighty basenes^it 
is, and how abominable it renders sinnefs in the sight of 
God. 1 hat it IS sin alone that makes the great (Hfer- 
ence betwixt an angel, and the devil; ami that cvciw 
sinner is, so far as he sins, a friend of the devil’s ai d 
carrying on his work against God. That sin is a great 
er blemish and defilement of the soul, than any fiUh or 

to hit si.i, s a nmeh greater business, than to dcsi-e 
to wallow in the mire, or love any bodily impurity. 

Consider now you must abhor a creature that delitrh-- 
cd m notmng but fiith and nastiness, that hated every 


DEVOUT AND HOLY LH’E 


329 


thing that was decent and clean ; and let this teach you 
to apprehend how odious that soul that delights in noth¬ 
ing but the impurity of sin, must appear unto God. 
For all sins, whether of sensuality, pride, or falseness, or 
any other irregular passion, are nothing else but the 
filth and impure disease of the rational soul. And all 
righteousness is nothing else but the purity, the decency, 
the beauty and perfection of that spirit, which is made 
in the image of God. 

Again ; Learn what horror you ought to have for the 
guilt of sin, from the greatness of that atonement which 
has been made for it. God made the world by the 
breath of his mouth, by a word speaking ; but the re¬ 
demption of the world has been a work of longer labour. 
How easily God can create beings, we learn from the 
first chapter of Genesis; but how difficult it is for in¬ 
finite mercy to forgive sins, we learn from that costly 
atonement, those bloody, sacrifices, those pains and pe¬ 
nances, those sicknesses and deaths, which all must be 
undergone, before the guilty sinner is fit to appear in 
the presence of God. 

Ponder these great truths : That the Son of God was 
forced to become man, to be partaker of all our infirmi¬ 
ties ; to undergo a poor, painful, miserable, and con¬ 
temptible life ; to be persecuted, hated, and at last nail¬ 
ed to a cross, that by such sufferings he might render 
God propitious to that nature in which he suffered. 
That all the bloody sacrifices and atonements of the 
Jewish law, were to represent the necessity of this great 
sacrifice, and the great displeasure God bore to sinners. 
That the world is still under the curse of sin and certain 
marksofGod’sdispleasureatit; such as famines, plagues,. 
tempests, sickness, diseases and death. 

Consider that all the sons of Adam are to go through 
a painful, sickly life, denying and mortifying their natu¬ 
ral appetites, and crucifying the lust of the flesh, in or¬ 
der to have a share in the atonement of our Saviour^s 
death. That all their penances and self-denials, all their 
tears and repentance, are only made available by that 
great intercession, which is still making for them at the 
right hand of God. 

Consider these great truths ; that this mysterious re-- 
D.d 2 


,ao 


A SEfttOtS CALL tO A 


demption, all these sacrifices and suffering’s, both ofLJoi! 
and man, are only to remove the guilt of sin ; and then 
let this teach you with what tears and contrition, you 
ought to purge yourself from it. After this general 
coiisideratioii of the guilt of sin, which has done sS much 
mischief to your nature, and exposed it to so great pun¬ 
ishment, and made it so odious to God, that nothing 
less than so great an atonement of the Son of God, and 
30 great repentance of our , own, can restore us to the- 
divine lavoiir. 

Consider next your own particular share in the guilt 

onM"?'! "'.r”''* zeal you 

ought to repent yourself, consider how you would ex- 

hort another sinner to repentance ; and what repentance 

?ud„ed'Tl"’^‘f would expect from him, whom you 
judged to be the greatest sinner in the world. Now this 
case every man may justly reckon to be his own. And 
you may fairly look upon yourself to be the greatest 
sinner that you know in the world. ^ 

For though you may know abundance of people to 
be guilty of some gross sins, with which you cannot 
charge yourself, yet you may justly eondemn yourself as 
the greatest sinner that you know. And that for these 
loliowing reasons. 

First, Because you know more of the folly of vour 

'!if Z ob’y know of your- 

bfelf, and cannot be sure that other sinners are guilty of 
diem. So that as you know more o.f the folly, the 
baseness, the pride, the deceitfulness and negligence of 
vour own heart, than you do of any one’s else, so you 
have just reason to consider yourself as the greatest L- 
iiei that you know : Because you know more of the 
gi eatness of your own sms, than you do of other peo- 

Secondly, The grcaUiess of your gpilt arises chiefly 
rom the greatness of God’s goodness towards us, from 
.he particular graces and blessings, the favours, the 
ghts, and instructions that we have received from him 

Now as these graces and blessings, and the multitude 
ofGod s_favours tovrards us, are the great aggravations 
of our sms against God, so they are only knoln to oul - 


DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 


331 


selves. And therefore every sinner knows more of the 
ng^ravation of his own guilt, than he does of other peo¬ 
ple’s ; and consequently may justly look upon himself 
to be the greatest sinner that he knows. 

How good God hath been to other sinners, what 
light and instruction he has vouchsafed to them ; what 
blessings and graces they have received from him ; how 
often he has touched their hearts with holy inspirations, 
you cannot tell. But all this you know of yourself; 
therefore you know greater aggravations of your own 
guilt, and are able to charge yourself with greater in¬ 
gratitude than you can charge upon other people. 

And this is the reason, why the greatest saints have in 
all ages condemned themselves as the greatest sinners, 
because they knew some aggravations of their own sins, 
which they could not know of other people’s. The right 
way therefore to fill your heart with true contrition, and 
a deep sense of your own sins, is this : You are not to 
consider, or compare the outward farm or course of your 
life, with that of other people^s, and then think yourself 
to be less sinful than they, because the outward course 
of your life is less sinful than theirs. But in order to 
know your own guilt, you must consider your own par¬ 
ticular circumstances, your health, your sickness, your 
youth, or age, your particular calling, the happiness of 
your education, the degrees of light and instruction that 
you have received, the good men that you have convers¬ 
ed with, the admonitions that you have had, the good 
books that you have read, the numberless multitude of 
divine blessings, graces, and favours, that you have re¬ 
ceived, the good motions of grace that you have resisted, 
the resolutions of amendment that you have so often 
broken, and the checks of conscience that you have dis¬ 
regarded. For it is from these circumstances, that every 
one is to state the measure and greatness of his own 
guilt. And as you know only these circumstances of 
your own sins, so you must necessarily know how to 
charge yourself with higher degrees of guilt, than you 
can charge upon other people. God Almighty knows 
greater sinners, it may be, than you are ; because he sees 
and knows the circumstances of all men’s sins ; But your 
own heart, if it is faithful to you, can discover no guilt 


33Q 


A SEKIOUS CALL TO A 


so great as your own; because it can only see in you 
those circumstances, on which great part of the guilt of 
sin IS founded. You may see sins in other people, that 
you cannot charge upon yourself; but then you know 
a number of circumstances of your own guilt, that you 
cannot lay to their charge. And perhaps that person 
that appears at such a distance from your virtue, and sO' 
odious in your eyes, would have been much better than 
you are, had he been altogether in your circumstances, 
and received all the same favours and graces from God 
that you have. 

This is a very humbling reflection, and very proper 
for tliose people to make, who measure their virtue, bv 
comparing the outward course of their lives with that 
of other people s. For look at whom you will, however 
different from you in his way of life, yet you can never 
know that he has resisted so much divine grace as you 
have; or that in all your circumstances, he would not 
have been much truer to his duty than you are. Now 
this IS the reason why I desired you to consider, how 
you w ould exhort that man to confess, and bewail his 
sms, whom you looked upon to be one of the greatest 
smners. Because if you will deal iustly, you must fix 
the charp at home, and look no farther than yourself, 
for l^cd has given no one any power of knowing the 

the gieatest sinner that every one kriou s is himself. You 

may psily see how such a one in the outward course of 
his h e b. cap the laws of God ; but then you can never 
sp, that had you been exactly in all his circumstances, 
that you should not have broken them more than he has 
done. A serious and frequent reflection upon these 
things, will mightily tend to humble us in our own eyes 
make us very apprehensive of the greatness of our La 
guilt, and \ eiy tender in censuring and condemning oth- 
er peop e, for who would dare to be severe against oth¬ 
er people , when, for aught he can tell, the severity of 
God may p more due to him, than to them ? Who 
would pclaim against the guilt of others, when he con° 

^uiirthf' knows more of the greatness of his own 
guilt, pan he pes of theirs ? How often you have re¬ 
sisted God s holy Spirit; how many motives to goodness 


DEVOliri' AND HOLY 


333 


you have disregarded ; how many particular blessings 
you have sinned against; how many good resolutions 
you have broken j how many checks and admonitions of 
conscience you have stifled, you very well know : But 
how often this has been the case of other sinners, you 
know not. And therefore the greatest sinner that you 
know must be yourself. 

Whenever therefore you are angry at sin or sinners, 
whenever you read or tliink of God’s indignation and 
wrath at wicked men, let this teach you to be the most 
severe in your censure, and most humble and contrite in 
the acknowledgment and confession of your own sins, 
because ycu ko>v of no sinner equal to yourself. 

l.astly, to conclude this chapter ; Having thus ex¬ 
amined and confessed your sins at this hour of the even¬ 
ing, you must afterwards look upon yourself, as still 
obliged to betake yourself to prayer again just before 
you go to bed. The subject that is most proper for your 
prayers at that time, is death. Let your prayers there¬ 
fore then be wholly upon it, reckoning up all the dan¬ 
gers, uncertainties, and terrors, of death ; let them con¬ 
tain every thing that can affect and awaken your mind 
into just apprehensions of it. Let your petitions be all 
for right sentiments of the approach and importance of 
death ; and beg of God, that your mind may be possessed 
with such a sense of its nearness, that you may have it 
always in your thoughts, do every thing as in sight of it, 
und make every day, a day of preparation for it. Repre 
sent to your imagination, that your bed is your grave ; 
that all things are ready for your interment; that you 
are to have no more to do with this world ; and that it 
will be owing to God’s great mercy, if you ever see the 
light of the sun again, or have another day to add to your 
works of piety. And then commit yourself to sleep, as 
into the bands of God; as one that is to have no more op¬ 
portunities of doiiig good ; but is to awake amongst 
spirits that are separate from the body, and waiting for 
the judgment of the last great day. 

Such a solemn resignation of yourself into the hands of 
God every evening, and parting with all the world, as 
if you was never to see it any more, and all this in the 
silence and darkness of the night, is a practice that will 


^^4 A SERIOUS CALL TO A 

soon have excellent (ffects upon your spirit. For this 
ine of Uie night is ex.ceeding proper for such prayers 
and meditations; and the likeness which sleep and dLk- 
ness liave to death, will contribute very much to make 
your thougins about it the ,nore and affeX 

^ucl proper for 

p ay^is, be ever passed over ivithcut them. 


XXIV, 

Of the Eoccclleney and Greatneee tf 
a devout Spirit. 

I HAVE now finished what I intended in ttuic 
a word.or two in reco^Son o/riifrio^Snedt 

supVo‘’s:u°he'd™si‘r:ofairdl'ri^ 
be re'sto^dm 
Srfruitoifn-^dttirtiti;^ 

ibctiou‘kseirirdf|T'-' ohridian pet" 

to be attained, though no°t wHh‘'tte'sImTetse*^ln e“' 

rtrtval at tt. It ts only tins manner, and in this sense!. 


DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 


335 


that I would recommend any particularity of life ; not 
as if perfection consisted in it but because of its great 
tendency to produce and support the true spirit of chris- 
tianlperfection. But the thing which is here pressed upon 
all, is, a life of great and strict devotion ; which, I 
think, has been sufficiently shewn to be equally the duty 
and happiness of ail orders of men Neither is there any 
thing in any particular state of life, that can be justly 
pleaded as a reason for any abatement of a devout spirit. 

But because in this polite age of ours, we have so 
lived away the spirit of devotion, that many seem afraid 
even to be suspected of it, imagining great devotion to 
be great bigotry ; that is founded in ignorance and poor¬ 
ness of spirit, and that little, weak, and dejected minds, 
are generally the greatest proficients in it: it shall here 
be fully shewn, thac great devotion is the noblest temper 
of the greatest and noblest souls; and that they who 
think it receives any advantage from ignorance and poor¬ 
ness of spirit, are themselves not a little, but entirely 
ignorant of the nature of devotion, the nature of God, 
and the nature of themselves. 

People of fine parts and learning, or of great know¬ 
ledge in worldly matters, may perhaps think it hard to 
have their want of devotion charged upon their igno¬ 
rance. But if they will be content to be tried by reason 
and scripture, it may soon be made appear, that a want 
of devotion, wherever it is, either amongst the learned 
or unlearned, is founded in gross ignorance, and the 
greatest blindness and insensibility that can happen to a 
rational creature. And that devotion is so far from being 
the effect of a little and dejected mind, that it must and 
will be always highest in the most perfect natures. And 
first, who reckons it a sign of a poor, little mind, for a 
man to be full of reverence and duty to his parents, to 
have the truest love and honour for his friend, or to ex¬ 
cel in the highest instances of gratitude to his benefac¬ 
tor ? Are not these tempers in the highest degree, in the 
most exalted and perfect minds ? And yet what is high 
devotion, but the highest exercise of these tempers, of 
duty, reverence, love, honour, and gratitude to tlie ami¬ 
able, glorious parent, friend, and benefactor of all man¬ 
kind ? Is it a true greatness of mind, to reverence the 


33« 


A SERIOtTS CALL TO A 


authority of your parents, to fear the displeaalire of your 
friend, to dread the reproaches of your benefactor ? and 
must not this fear and dread, and reverence, be much 
more just and reasonable, and honourable, when they are 
in the highest degree towards God ? Now as the higher 
these tempers are, the more are they esteemed amongst 
men, and are allowed to be so much the greater proofs 
of a true greatness of mind ; so the higher and greater 
these same tempers are towards God, so much the more 
do they prove the nobility, excellence, and greatness of 
the mind. So that so long as duty to parents, love to 
iriends, and gratitude to benefactors, are thought great 
and honorable tempers; devotion, which is nothing else 
but duty, love, and gratitude to God, must have the 
highest place amongst our highest virtues. 

If a prince out of his mere goodness should send you 
a pardon by one of his slaves, would you not think it a 
part of your duty to receive the slave with marks of love, 
esteem, and gratitude for his great kindness, in bringing 
you so great a gift; and at the same time think it a 
meanness and poorness of spirit, to shew love, esteem 
and gratitude to the prince, who of his own goodness 
freely sent you the pardon ? And yet this would be as 
reasonable, as lo suppose that love, esteem, honour, and 
gratitude, are noble tempers, and instances of a great 
sou., when they are paid to our feliow-creatures ; but 
the effect of a poor, ignorant dejected mind, when thev 
are paid to God. ' ^ 

^ Farther ; that, part of devotion which expresses itself 
in soiiowful confession, and penitential tears of a broken 
and contrite heart, is very far from being any sign of a 
little and ignorant mind. For who does not acknowledge 
It an instance of an ingenuous, generous, and brave mind, 
to acknowledge a fault, and ask pardon for any offence ? 
And are not the finest and most improved minds, the 
most remarkable lor this excellent temper ? Is itnot also 
allowed, that the ingenuity and excellence of a man’s 
spirit IS much shown when his sorrow and indignation 
at himself rises in proportion to the folly of his crime, 
and tne goodness and greatness of the person he has of¬ 
fended ? Now if things are thus, then the greater anv 
man s mind is, the more he knows of God and himself 


devout and HOtY LtFE 


33? 


judgment, a«l penetration of ml!,‘5’is‘u,e^ 

God’sTu^disnle“'‘‘“‘®''' ‘ender sense of 

creatniL l,? T’ knows of the 

nntn,!^ h’ f m ^ooflness, and perfection of the divine 
natuie, thefuiler ot shame and confusion will he be at 

tl e more'dulll^'""^""" ^ ‘^e other hand 

tne more dull and ignorant any soul is, the more base 

im irr"' “ ‘ke mo;e senseless it is 

of the goodness and purity of God; so much the more 

pentaLe! “ ““fession and re- 

Devotion therefore is so far from being best suited to 
Jittle Ignorant minds, that a true elevation of soul a 

ourselveTare thc’°“‘'’ koo'vledge of God and 

tbn hath’ *kat our devo- 

bv1"rie°tv Ol^?^"'*' ''=‘"‘1. it shall here be made appear 
^ ai-guments, that indevotion is foundJd ki 
die most excessive ignorance. 

And, First, our blessed Lord, and his apostles were 
eminent instances of great and frequent devotion? Now 
if we \vill giant, (as ail Christians must grant) that their 
founded in as true knowledge of the 
matuic of devotion, the nature of God, and the nature of 
im^i; then it is plain, that all those that arc insensible 
.of the duty of devotion, are in this excessive state of io-. 
noiance, they neitner know God, nor themselves, nSr 
devotion, h or if a right knowledge in these three re¬ 
spects, produces great devotion, as in the case of ou’' 
Saviour and ns apostles, then a neglect of devotion must 
be chargeaole upon ignorance. 

m mP’!- ’ “°T P^^Pie i'ave recourse 

Wdcvotiou, when they are in sickness, distress or fear 

of r ? ■ , '1‘is state shews them more 

of tne want of God, and their own weakness, than they 

fnit^sPh'- because ’their int^. 

m tms, their approaching end convinces them of some- 

thing, woicn they did not half perceive before > Now 
.f devotion at these seasons, is the eftect of a better 
E e 




A SERIOUS GALL TO A 


'.isa 

' knowledge of God, and ourselves, then the neglect of ' 
devotion at other times, is always owing to great igno¬ 
rance of God and ourselves. 

Farther; As indevotion is ignorance, so it is the most 
shameful ignorance and such as is to be charged with 
the greatest folly. This will fully appear to any one 
that considers, by what rules we are to judge of the ex¬ 
cellency of any knowledge, or the shamefulness of any 
ignorance. Now knowledge itself would be no excel-., 
lence, nor ignorance any reproach to us, but that we 
are rational creatures. But if this be true, then it fol¬ 
lows plainly, that that knowledge which is most suitable 
to our rational nature, and v/hich most concerns us as 
such to know, is our highest, finest knowledge; and 
that ignorance which relates to things that are most es¬ 
sential to us, as rational creatures, and which we are 
most concerned to know, is, of all others, the most gross 
and shameful ignorance. If therefore there be any things 
that concern us more than others, if there be any truths 
that are more to us than all others, he that has the ful- - 
lest knowledge of these things, that sees these truths in 
the clearest, strongest light, has, of all others, as a ra¬ 
tional creature, the clearest understanding, and the 
strongest parts. If therefore our relation to God, be our 
p'reatest relation, if our advancement in his favour be our 
highest advancement, he that has the highest notions of 
the excellenoe of this relation, he that most strongly 
perceives the highest worth, and great value of holiness 
and virtue, that judges every thing little, when compar¬ 
ed with it, proves himself to be master of the best, and 
most excellent knowledge. If a judge had fine skill ’ 
in painting, architecture, and music, but at the same 
time had gross and confused notions of equity, and • 
a poor, dull apprehension of the value of justice, who . 
would scruple to reckon him a poot* ignorant judge ? If 
a bishop should be a naan of great address and skill 
in the arts of preferment, and understanding how to 
raise and enrich his family in the world, but should have 
no taste or sense of the maxims and principles of the j 
saints and fathers of the church ; if he did not conceive \ 
the holy nature, and great obligations of his calling, ^ ' 
and judge it better to be crucified to the world, than to i 


devout and holy UFE. 339 

splendor, who would scruple to 
bishop with want of understandiiig ? If 
Cnn PTOnounce after this manner, our 

son and judgment arc but empty sounds. But liow 
t judge IS to be reckoned ignorant, if he does not 
1 or peiceive the value and worth of justice • if a 
hop IS to be looked upon as void of understanding, if 
IS more experienced in other things, than in the^ex- 
ed virtues of his apostolical calling; then all common 
isUans are to be looked upon as more or less know- 
. according as they know more or less of those 
ftl’® common and greatest con- 
of all chnstians. If a gentleman should fancy that 
• moon IS no bigger than, it appears to the eye, that 
hines with Its own light, that all the stars are Liy so 
y spots of light; if after reading books of astrLc- 
, he should still continue in the same opinion, most 
aple would think he had but a poor appreheSn! 

a Ln “ better to provide 

Pf^P®*'® for a glorious eter- 
f heieafter, that it was better to be rich than to be 
his ignorance and dulness would be too 
at to be compared to any thing else. 

I here IS no knowledge that deserves so much as the 
ne of It, but that which^we call judgment. And that 
he most clear and improved understanding, which 
: ges best of the value and worth of things, all the rest 
■Hng^^ animal, is but mere seeing and 

Vnd*'there is no excellence of any knowledge in us 
we exercise our judgment, and judge well o4e value 
I worth of things. If a man had eyes that could 
beyond the stars, or pierce into the heart of the 
th, but could not see things that were before him 
discern any thing that was serviceable to him, we 
uld reckon that he had but a vervbad sight If ano 
- r had ears that received sounds from the world in the 
on, but could hear nothing that was done upon earth ^ 

. should look upon him to be as bad as deaf. In like 
nner, if a man has a memory that can retain a grea^ 
jiy things ; if he has wit thatis sharp and acute iiTarts 
M sciences, or an imaginati^ that can wander agr^ee 


340 


A SERIOUS CALL TO A 


ably in 5ctions, but has a dull, poor apprehension of his 
duty and relation to God, of the value of piety, or the 
worth of moral virtue, he may very justly be reckortkd 
to have a bad understanding. He is but like the man that 
can only see ^id hear such things as are of no benefit 
to him. As certain therefore as piety, virtue, and eter¬ 
nal happiness are of the most concern to man, as certain 
as the immortality of our nature, and relation to God, 
are the most glorious circumstances of our nature, so 
certain is it, that he who dwells most in contemplation 
of them, whose heart is most affected with them, who 
sees farther into them, who best comprehends the value 
and excellency of them, who judges all worldly attain¬ 
ments to be mere bubbles and shadows, in comparison 
to them, proves himself to have of all others the finest 
understanding, and the strongest judgment.^ And if we 
do not reason after this manner, or allow this method of 
reasoning, we have no arguments to prove, that there isf 
any such thing as a wise man, or a fool. For a man is "" 
proved to be natural, not because he wants any of his 
senses, or is incapable of every thing, but because he has 
no judgment, and is entirely ignorant of the worth and;;^ 
value of things, he will perhaps choose a fine coat rather; 
than a large estate. And as the essence of stupidity 'j 
consist in the entire want of judgment, in an ignorance’’'j 
of the value of things ; so on the other hand, the essence'l l 
of w isdom and knowledge must consist in the excellencyf 
of our judgment, or in the knowledge of the worth, andl'j 
value of things. This therefore is an undeniable proofi^ | 
that he who knows most of the value of the best things, ,i 
who judges most rightly of the things which arc of: 
most” concern to him w'ho had rather have his soul i 
a state of Christian perfection, than the greatest share] | 
of worldly happiness, has the highest wisdom, and is at'! 
the farthest distance from .en that are naturals, thab i 
any knowledge can place him. On the other hand, heV 
that can talk^thc learned languages, and repeat a great!' 
'^deal of history, but prefers the indulgence of his bod#! 
to the purity and perfection of his soul, who is mor^' 
concerned to get a name, or an estate here, than to liv^| 
in eternal gloiy hereafter^^s in the nearest state to that^j 
natural, jvho chooses a painted coat, rather than a large | 



DEVOtlT AND HOLTUra. 


341 


Se ‘s°ta?e°of "f as in a 

knowledge of thLs^W are 

then it is undeSv nTain ,Lf 

to be wise hnf K v? ^ we cannot prove a nian 

IcdgerthWs tL't L'e'l^ *“= know. 

the lilht of PrH^' 1 habitations in 

*0 be*Vrwto ™agine some mighty.prince 

0 be greatei t'-an God, we should take it for a ivar 
E-e 2'- *■’ ' 





U2 


) 

A SERIOUS CALL TO A . 

ignorant creature ; all people -^"ould acknowledge such 
an imagination to be the height of stupidity. But if 
this same human spirit should think it better to be de¬ 
voted to some mighty prince, than to be devoted to God, 
Would not this be a greater proof of a poor, ignorant, 
and blinded nature ? Yet this is what all people do, 
who think any thing better, greater, or wiser than a de¬ 
vout life. So that which way soever we consider this 
^ matter, it plainly appears, that devotion is an instance of 
great judgment, of an elevated nature ; and the want of 
devotion is a certain proof of the want of understanding. 

The greatest spirits of the heathen world, such as Py¬ 
thagoras, Socrates, Plato, Epictetus, Marcus, Antoninus, 

&c. owed all their greatness to the spirit of devotion. 
They were full of God ; their wisdom and deep contem¬ 
plations tended only to deliver men from the vanity of : 
the wmi’ld, the slavery of bodily passions, that they 
might act as spirits that came from God, and wTre soon 
to return to him. 

Again ; to sec the dignity and greatness of a devout 
spirit, we need only compare it with other tempers that , 
are chosen in'The room of it. St. John tells us, that all | 
:n the nvorld (that is, all the tempers of a w*orklly life) f ' 
h the lust of the fleshy the lust of the eyes^and the pride I ! 

Let us therefore consider, what wdsdom or ex- J | 
cellcncy of mind there is required to qualify a man for ^ 
these delights. Let us suppose a man given up to the 
pleasures of the body; surely this can be no sign of a fine 
mind, or an excellent spirit; for if he has but the temper 
of ananimal, he is greatenoughforthese enjoyments. Let | 
us suppose him to be devoted to honours and splendors,* J ' 
to be fond of glitter and equipage ; now if this temper 
required any great parts or fine understanding to make 
a man capable of it, it w’-ould prove the world to abound f j 
with great wits. Let us suppose him to be in love with i | 
riches, and to be so eager in the pursuit of them, as T| 
never to think he lias enough ; now this passion is so ri 
far from supposing any excellent sense, or great under- I 
standing, that blindness and folly arc the best supports 1 
that it hath. Let us lastly suppose him in another light, I 
not singly devoted to any of these passions, but as it * 
mostly happens, governed by all of them in their turns;, ' 


I 






DEVOUT AiVD HOLV Lii-'E. ^4,5 

does this shew a more exalted nature, than to spend 
hrs clays in the service of any one of them ? For to have 
a taste for these things, and to be devoted to them, is so 
tar from arguing any tolerable parts or understanduig, 
that they are suited to the dullest, weakest minds, and re¬ 
quire only a great deal of pride and folly to be greatlv 
admired. But now let libertines bring any such charge 
as this if they can, against devotion. They mav as 
well endeavour to charge light with every thing that be¬ 
longs to darkness. Let them but grant that there is a 
God, and providence, and then they have granted enough 
to justify the wisdom, and support the honour of devo¬ 
tion. Tor if there is an infinitely wise and good crea¬ 
tor in whom we live, move and have our being, whose 
providence governs all things in all places, surely it must 
be the highest act of our understanding to conceive 
rightly of him ; it must be the noblest instance of judg¬ 
ment, the most exalted temper of our nature, to worship 
and adore this universal providence, to conform to its 
laws, to study its wisdom, and to live and act every 
where, as in the presence of this infinitely good and 
wise creator. Now he that lives thus, lives in the spirit 
of devotion. .And what can shew such great parts, and 
so fine an understanding, as to live in this temper. For 
if God is wisdom, surely he must be the wisest man in 
the w^orld, who most conforms to the wusdom of God, 
who best obeys lus providence, who enters farthest into 
his designs, and does all he can, that God’s will may be 
done on earth, as it is clone in heaven. A devout man 
makes a true use of his reason; he secs through the 
vanity of the world, discovers the corruption of his na¬ 
ture, and the blindness of his passions, lie lives by a 
law which is not visible to vulgar eyes ; he enters into 
the w^orld of spirits ; he compares the greatest things, 
sets eternity against time ; and chooses Wtlicr to he for 
ever great in the presence of God, wlien he dies, than 
to have the greatest share of w^oridly pleasures wliilst he 
lives. lie that is devout, isfull of these gi eat thoughts; 
he lives upon these noble reflections, and conducts him¬ 
self by rules and principles, which can only be appre¬ 
hended, admired and loved by reason. There is nothing 
hereiore tliat shews so great a genius, nothing that so 


C4-i A SERIOCS CALL TO A 

raises us above vulgar spirits, nothing that so plaiiily de- 
dares an heroic greatness of mind, as great devotion. 
When you suppose a man to be a saint, or all devotion, 
you have raised him as much above all other conditions 
of life, as a philosopher is above an animal. 

Lastly, courage and bravery are words of a great 
sound, and seem to signify an heroic spirit; but yet hu¬ 
mility, which seems to be the lowest, meanest part of 
devotion, is a more certain argument of a noble and 
courageous mind. For humility contends with greater 
enemies, is more constantly engaged, more violently 
assaulted, bears more, suffers more, and requires greater 
courage to support itself, than any instances of w'orldly 
bravery. A man that dares be >poor and contemptible 
in the ey es of the world, to approve himself to God ; that 
resists and rejects all human glory, that opposes the 
clamour of his passions, that meekly puts up all injuries 
and wrongs, and dares stay for his reward till the invisi¬ 
ble hand of God gives to every one their proper places, 
endures a much greater trial, and exerts a nobler forti¬ 
tude, than he that is bold and daring in the fire of battle. 
For the boldness of a soldier, if he is a stranger to the 
spirit of devotion, is rather weakness than fortitude ; it 
is at best but mad passion, and heated spirits, and has no 
more true value in it than the fury of a tyger. For as 
•we cannot lift up a hand, or stir a foot, but by a powder 
that is lent us from God ; so bold actions that are not 
directed by the laws of God, or so many executions of 
his w ill, are no more true bravery, than sedate malice is 
Christian patience. 

Reasoii is our universal law^, that obliges us in all 
places, and at all times ; and no actions have any honour, 
but so far asAhey are instances of our obedience to rea¬ 
son. And it is as base and cov/ardly, to be bold and 
daring against the principle of reason and justice, as to 
be bold and daring iil lying and perjury. 

Would we therefore exercise a true fortitude, we must 
do all in the spirit of devotion, be valiant against the cor¬ 
ruptions of the w^orlcl, and the lusts of the flesh, and the 
ten-ptations of the devil; for tobc daring andcourageous 
against these enemies, is the noblest bravery that an 
human mind is capable of. 


liEVOUT and holy LIFE 




■vhVlhinkT''^ fo*’ ‘''<= sake of those, 

anirit • th J F ,l >>e bigotry and poorness of 

spiiit, that by these considerations they may see, how 

tempers are, if compared to it'' 
X hat they may see, that all worldly attainments, wheth ‘ 
Cl ot greatness, wisdom or bravery, arc but cmnlv 
sounds ; and there is nothing wise or great, or noble! in 
nglitly to know, and heartily wor- 
ship and adore the great God, that is the suj^port and. 
-fe of all spirits, whether in heaven or on eartbr, 










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